


je vole

by nightwideopen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Guns, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Paris (City), Past Child Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> Two best friends, two broken boys on the run from themselves who managed to land a safe space in the heart of a beautiful city. </em>
</p><p>Harry and Louis are thieves in Paris. They're all the other has.</p><p>(Alternatively titled <em>Pink.</em>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strong/gifts).



> FIRST OFF: I JUST WANT TO THANK HARRY STYLES HIMSELF AND HIS TATTOO ARTIST FOR RELEASING WHAT HIS TATTOOS MEAN BECAUSE WITHOUT FINDING OUT THAT THEY'RE ALL ABOUT FRENCH CRIME AND CRIMINALS AND LITERAL THIEVERY, THIS FIC WOULD HAVE DIED. HENCE THE TITLE. 
> 
> Second: A disclaimer that none of these characters represent how I feel about the real people. I also know nothing about the city of Paris, as I've never been there. All of these descriptions are either from skye or from my very good/bad guesses. Depending. This is unbeta'd as well (unless you count skye), so all typos and mistakes are mine.
> 
> Third: This fic is very dear to my heart because it started off as a sheet of paper with barely five hundred words on it that took a life of its own. 
> 
> Fourth: This is for Skye. It's French and it's thieves and it's zouis and it's gritty but light. She refused to let me give up on it so, here I am. I hope it doesn't disappoint.
> 
> Fifth (I'm so sorry): If you find any mistakes in my French, PLEASE TELL ME. I literally used Google translate and I'd like it to be as genuine as possible. 
> 
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS. It's all pretty quick but just be careful.  
> Any and all mistakes, typos, wrong things in general are my fault. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The pavement is warm where it shouldn't be. It had soaked up the sun as though it knew that Louis would be stopping by. How could it not? He comes here everyday, at the same time, drops onto the middle of the abandoned street and gently exhales the smoke from his cigarette up into the Parisian sky.

"That's bad for your health, you know." 

"So's your face, yet I still let you show up here." 

Harry takes three steps forward, entering Louis' visual field. His coat collar is turned up against the cold like a modern day Sherlock Holmes.

"You love my face, _mon ami_."

He lies down on the street next to Louis, plucks the cigarette from his fingers and takes a drag for himself. When he hands it back, Louis can see the smudge of a pale shade of pink on the filter.

"Well that's very brave of you,” Louis says offhandedly.

He's careful that it doesn't come out sarcastically; he really is proud. They’ve come such a long way. Louis stares down the end of the street, remembering the fragile boy that Harry was five years ago when they first moved here, the broken boy that Louis could barely hold together with his own two hands.

_Louis watches Harry run the lock through his fingers. He knows it's heavy, that the trembling of Harry's hands is due to his physical weakness as well as his lingering anxiety. He wraps Harry's hands up in his, around the cold lock._

_“You're gonna be alright. We both are.” Louis still has bruises on his face, in various tints and shades. He still doesn't quite believe the words himself. “That's what this lock is for, yeah?”_

_Harry nods, though the tear tracks on his cheeks say otherwise._

_“What if it gets removed?”_

_There have been talks about removing the locks from the bridge, that they're becoming a dangerous weight. The bridge could collapse at any point, apparently, and so the city will have to take action. Louis doubts they will. He hopes he's there when the bridge actually does start to break apart._

_So he shrugs, suddenly aware of how fast Harry's growing, how he's gone from Louis’ chin to Louis’ eyes in two months. He pulls Harry closer to him._

_“Then it gets removed. We'd still know the promise we made and no matter how hard anyone tries to break it, it would still stand. Lock or no lock, it stands.”_

_Louis doesn't know where his words are coming from, but as he watches the water rush below the bridge, watches the wind whip through Harry's hair, he's glad that they're at least genuine. He knows they're going to be alright, because he's going to keep the promise that he got engraved onto the lock._

H+L

2011.

We'll always keep each other safe.

_“C’mon.”_

_He leads their entwined hands to an empty link on the bridge. Harry has trouble clasping the lock, his strength still minimal and his hands still trembling. Louis helps him, the lock clicking into place, and his pulse jumps. It shouldn't mean anything, but somehow, to Louis, it feels like forever._

"I've stopped caring.” Harry snaps him out of his reminiscence. “They could stone me in the square and I wouldn't bat an eye."

Harry just looks so earnest saying it that Louis honestly can't help the laugh that tumbles out of him. "These aren't Biblical times, relax."

Louis takes one last inhale before snuffing the cigarette out between them.

"I don't want to be afraid, anymore, of something that shouldn't even be wrong."

They look at each other, years of memories and pain passing between them.

"I'll back you up, one hundred percent. I know how much it means to you."

"Thank you," Harry whispers. Louis doesn't miss the way his eyes dart down to his lips for a moment. "I'll always need you, you know that.”

Louis doesn’t like the implication of that, that Harry can’t live without him. Harry is so much stronger than he gives himself credit for. He's been through so much, and as much as he credits that to Louis’ unconditional love and support over the years, it's all been on him. Harry has pulled himself out of dirt and mud, rugs stained with his own blood. The boy has been through hell and back and Louis will be damned if he doesn't commend him for it.

“Oh, come on. You don't need me. You'd be just fine on your own and you know it.”

But it becomes clear that this was the wrong thing to say, as a dejected look that paints Harry’s face.

“I wouldn't be here without you, Lou,” he mumbles at the pavement. “I mean that in every sense. I would either still be in England or dead. Or both.”

“Dead‒” Louis scoffs, then pulls Harry into his side with an arm around his neck. “You wouldn't be _dead,_  you idiot. You'd still be fighting like hell. _Petit soldat_. That's what you are to me. The feistiest of them all.”

He can feel Harry smile against the beige suede of his coat.

“Wanna go home?” Louis asks.

Harry nods gently. “Can we walk? Been feeling a little off; don't wanna vomit all over the poor passengers.”

And Louis couldn't deny him even if he wanted to.

So, they walk.

They walk shoulder to shoulder through the empty streets. Living well outside the heart of city has its perks, not only because they get to have a backyard, but because they can take quiet strolls, can experience the beauty of Paris without the bustle. It's cold now, but Louis can easily visualise the flowers that line each balcony when the weather thaws out. He watches them bloom every spring, flourish every summer. They're truly beautiful. The only thing better than the flowers is seeing Harry’s eyes light up every April once the little buds start to peek out of the steel bars.

“Do you really think I could be as good as you?”

They've been talking about this, Harry joining Louis at work.

“Of course.” He bumps into Harry gently, making them both stumble a little. “It just takes practice. Plus, you've been watching me for years. And you've always picked up things quick. A regular genius, you are. _La crème de la crème."_

Harry scrunches his nose. “That was an awful cliché.”

“It sounds better in English, doesn't it?”

They both laugh, the happy sound bouncing off the little houses they pass on the way to theirs. They're almost home, and Louis sort of resents that. He loves the ease of just walking as a comfortable silence surrounds them, constant motion so it doesn't make him fidgety, but also the lack of need for talking. He could walk with Harry for hours, just content on the little nothings it leaves room for.

“I've got faith in you, H. Like I said before,” he turns the key in the lock, “You don't give yourself enough credit.”

Harry nods, but they both know it's just to shut Louis up.

“We'll just have to see, won't we?”

-

A motorcycle roars by, momentarily drowning out all of Louis’ thoughts. The din clears, the alleyway muffling all of the outside sounds again.

"And if someone catches you?"

"Run."

" _But_...?"

"Don't go home. "

Louis nods, pleased. He knows that the knowledge of fundamental rules don't equate to field success, but one can hope.

The square is crowded, people bustling about and leaving work. The sun is setting, five in the afternoon, so no one will see Harry's fumbling, novice hands.

"First wave," Louis says, "I'll snatch, you grab. Same as usual. Gotta eat today, don't we?" Harry nods, already wide eyed and eager, despite his obvious nerves. "You'll get the second. It'll be darker, you'll be fine, I promise. I’ve taught you well enough, yeah?"

Harry hasn't spoken much, aside from answering Louis' persistent questions. He's tried to hold Louis' hand twice, only to be slapped away and brushed off. Louis has to be in a certain headspace to do this properly, Harry knows that. He can't be thinking about Harry's stupid, stupid infatuation with him and the disappointment and hurt in his stupid little Bambi-like eyes.

The sky has opened up, snow trickling down on the passers by. Louis makes a swift collision into a man with a trench coat. Several apologies and a wipe of the disgruntled man's shirt front later, he's tossing a wallet into Harry's waiting hands. A couple that's too enraptured with each other don't notice the woman's purse being quickly reached into. Louis swipes a few Euro notes and pockets them. He slips a passing Harry two rings and a bracelet for later inspection.

They meet up by the fountain in the tightly packed square, and Louis can see that Harry is jittery with nerves and anticipation. He remembers entirely too vividly what it was like, the first day he decided to reach his hand into someone's pocket and take what was theirs, claim it as his. He was just so _desperate_ , so sick of seeing Harry suffering because he was unable to provide for him the better life he'd promised. Harry had constantly assured him that it was already better, being away from England, just the two of them. But it wasn't enough, Louis has felt like a failure. He felt _weak._

Besides, it had been easy enough, robbing an unsuspecting old man of his loose cash. He'd ran the whole way home, just bursting to tell Harry about it, the adrenaline too fresh in his veins to realise that he'd just committed a crime. Or to care.

_“You did what!?”_

_“I just took it! Oh my God.” Louis holds up his trembling fingers in front of his face, unable to contain his glee. “I can't stop shaking. What a fucking rush_.”

_The floorboards under his feet creak loudly, protesting against his weight with their age and condition. Louis barely notices the smell that comes from them anymore. When he does, he forces himself to remember that he's lucky to have a roof over his head at all._

_Harry doesn't look too convinced of Louis’ excited ramblings._

_“Lou, it's wrong. We can't just steal from people. What if you'd been caught? Neither of us can afford the other to be in jail. You can't‒”_

_“Harry.”_

_He stops pacing, looks pleadingly at Louis at the sound of his name._

_“H, this is enough to buy food for the entire_ week _. Besides, aren't I the older one here? There's nothing to worry about, I promise.”_

_The flat is only one large room, so there's really nowhere for Harry to storm off to besides behind the curtain that they've set up to be their makeshift bedroom. Louis hears him deposit himself onto the squeaky twin-sized mattress._

_When Louis pulls back the curtain to find a balled up Harry, his chest tightens with affection only for a quick moment before it's replaced with regret._

_“I can't lose you, Lou. I can't do this on my own.”_

_“What?” Louis is thoroughly confused as to how he got to that conclusion. “How would you lose me?”_

_Harry's wet laugh is borderline hysterical. “You're really stupid, aren't you? You could end up in_ prison _.”_

_Right._

_“That‒ no. Harry, I-I could practice, I could get really good at this!” He jumps on top of Harry, wrapping his arms around his waist. He wants Harry to be as excited about this as he is. “We'd never have to beg for money again. You could sing because you_ want _to, I could quit that God awful job.” Rolling baguettes is hardly glamorous work. “This can be the beginning of everything getting better.”_

Harry is obviously much more acceptable of breaking the law now, much more keen on it, to say the least. Louis has well and truly spoiled him. Guilty as charged.

“Have we got enough?” he asks excitedly. “Is it my turn now?”

“Easy tiger.” Louis scans the square as best he can with only the dingy street lamps to provide light. “Just a few more minutes while the sun sets, promise. You've got to calm down.”

Harry nods, eager to obey in a way that always makes Louis’ stomach dip. He doesn't understand. He's not sure he wants to. It's unsettling in itself and really needs to sort itself out before Louis suffers an aneurysm just from trying so hard to not think about it.

So Louis holds true to his word and snatches up as much cash as he can fit in his pocket in one shot. Harry's hot on his trail, not slipping up even as bouncy as he is, and it's comforting in a new way. Harry's never let him down, and the fact that he can now pass on the thing that saved them both with confidence, it means a lot. In a weird way. He's essentially teaching Harry how to be a criminal, but he's also teaching Harry a way for him to get by on his own should he ever have to. Louis has no intentions of ever leaving Harry to fend for himself but as they've both seen, life can often be a whirlwind of unexpected slaps-in-the-face.

Somewhere in the midst of Louis’ expert thieving, he gets a brilliant idea.

Nighttime is always Louis’ ideal time, as he works better in the darkness. For others, the black of night poses a feeling of uncertainty; For Louis, it's an infinite sea of possibilities that leaves everyone else vulnerable and him as powerful as the collapsing of the light itself.

Harry, however, is an optimist. In being an optimist, he serves as the antagonist to every fibre of Louis’ being. Harry feels more secure in the daytime, in the light. Harry is an ever-glow, a far off star of promise in Louis’ suffocating darkness.

Therefore, the Métro.

It's not far enough into the early hours yet for the din of the underground to die down. People are still milling about, rushing to make their train, to stick to their schedules. Harry's eyes are filled with magic the moment he absorbs the atmosphere, the lost tourists and the sideshows. (He drops a Euro in the bucket of a loud piano-playing duo.) Louis pats himself on the back, not metaphorically and not subtly. (But then has to glower at Harry for throwing away their hard earned money before remembering that that was Harry at one point: showcasing his talent for even the smallest donation.)

“Right,” Louis secures his hand on Harry's waist and begins to guide him along, “There's a sea of tourists gonna be going towards line _sept_ , about three dozen frazzled, late workers headed for _cinq_ , and a couple night-shifters that are still half asleep going for line _trois_. It's entirely up to you which ones you wanna tackle, and I've listed them in order of difficulty. Kind of like a video game. And if‒”

“The night-shifters.”

The conviction in Harry's voice startles Louis just a bit. It's… Louis doesn't know what it is.

“Night-shifters it is.” They change direction swiftly, dodging several loud men to head toward the correct train line. “Care to share why while we're walking?” He giggles at himself. “Alliteration.”

“Well,” Harry's voice wavers in the way Louis knows best, because that's more like it. “Like you said, they're still half asleep, so less likely to fight back. They're also more likely to stuff things into their pockets last minute than people who work late, because those people carry briefcases. Plus, tourists simply _Google_ ways to not fall victim to pickpockets, while residents here just expect it to never happen to them. Stupid.”

Louis smiles fondly, but stays walking behind Harry where he can't see him so he doesn't give away just how proud he is of his prodigé.

“Wonderful.” And it sounds facetious, but he's got a wicked grin in his face now, confident that Harry is going to do well.

They set up shop exactly where the middle compartment stops, Louis standing on the steps that get flooded every three minutes like clockwork. Harry stands on the mark where Louis told him the doors will be. Louis pictures himself standing there, a nineteen year old fool that had spent a full week watching the cars go by in a blur, memorising the routine as though his life depended on each and every mundane detail. He realises then, that it had. It still does.

Louis feels stupid, watching a shadow version of himself follow his own advice word for word. Harry doesn't falter, never misses a beat when slipping his deft fingers into an unsuspecting passengers pocket, swiftly robbing them without alerting any bystanders. He waits for the doors, just as instructed and just as they slide shut, _swipe._ He's like a cat, Jesus.

The first train rushes off in a blur, leaving Louis to think that it's beginners luck. But as Harry's hand darts in and out of the car as the doors of the second and third and fourth are sliding shut, it becomes more evident that he's _gifted_ at this.

Eight trains pass by, and Harry had actually managed to snag ten wallets and five phones.

And, like, _fucking hell_.

Louis is more than impressed. He's actually beaming from across the crowd simply to hide his shock. Harry has always been a bumbling idiot when it comes to completing a sentence or remaining upright for a long period of time, but here he is, putting Louis out of commission in his own job.

“So?” The spring in Harry's step is _still_ there as they trudge against the wind back to their flat. “How'd I do?”

Louis genuinely doesn't know what to say.

“I mean, did I get enough? It was hard to grab more than one or two things while the doors were closing so quick. I hope it's enough for like, actual things, I dunno how much they were carrying when I‒”

“God, Harry, _shut_ _up_.”

“I‒ Sorry.”

Louis rolls his eyes and shoves Harry into an alleyway. He lets Harry hang in suspense for a moment or two, reveling in his terrified reaction but also needing a moment to collect his thoughts and put them into actual, coherent words.

“H, you were amazing. My first time in the Métro I nearly got dragged away by the train ‘cause my hand got caught. You're a _natural_.”

“That's…” Harry needs some time to comprehend what Louis is saying, but when he does he starts blushing, smiling as wide as a bloody Cheshire Cat. Louis thinks briefly that his dimples may become permanent fixtures in his face. “Odd to say. But. Thank you?”

Louis ruffles his hair, pushing him out of the alley and smiling just as hard. His cheeks are starting to hurt. He's just so _proud_. It's honestly bordering on ridiculous.

“You're very welcome,” Louis says with a dismissive flourish. “Welcome to the lavish life of a criminal.”

-

Louis nearly faints when the front door opens to reveal Harry.

“What the _fuck_!?” He leaps off of the couch, hands immediately clutching Harry's face and turning his head side to side. “Where is it?! Where'd it all _go?_ ”

Harry laughs. He _laughs_. He has the nerve to laugh, the fucker.

“To charity,” he says brightly. “Cancer patients. Figure they need it more than I do. Plus, it _will_ grow back, you know.”

“Yeah but. But‒” _But?_ “Now you look like a proper criminal. No more innocent, curly locks to frame your itty bitty baby face. Just your stupid mug and your stupid bald head. We're going to get arrested. You've ruined us.”

Harry rolls his eyes, sliding past Louis so he can actually get into the flat. He doesn't look bothered at all by the fact that he's now _bald_. And Louis may be being a tiny bit dramatic but his best friend is _bald._ Bald! Not a single hair on his head.

“Lou, I'm not bald, will you shut up? I've still got a solid four inches of hair on my head. Like, it doesn't even stand up on its own, relax.”

And fine, he's not bald. Louis is allowed to overreact to sudden changes. He's a Capricorn, after all. If that means anything, or whatever. He can't remember what Harry told him about his horoscope.

“Well, it doesn't really matter, does it, because we've got to head out soon if we're gonna catch the evening rush in the city.”

Harry's putting the kettle on, and it makes Louis wonder when _he_ became the uptight one. He's getting old.

“I'll be ready in ten minutes, I need a shower. Make my tea for me, will ya? Thanks.”

He's gone after that, and… Louis has honest to God created a monster.

But true to his word, Harry is indeed ready in ten minutes. They walk silently for a little while as Harry sips his tea from his _Sesame Street_ travel mug, and Louis stares at his own worn out trainers. He's basically rich, why hasn't he bought new shoes in the last five years?

“Why'd you cut it anyway?”

His voice cuts through the silence in a way that he hates but Harry chooses to ignore. Louis is grateful.

Harry shrugs. “I like change.”

“Just because you're twenty-one now doesn't mean your whole life is going to start going off the rails. You don't have to make all these‒”

“I just wanted a haircut, Lou.”

It should seem simple enough, and Louis shouldn't be so bothered. It's just such a drastic thing for Harry (“I have to clean my room on every third Wednesday,” “The mug handles all have to be facing west,” “There can't be more than three ticking clocks in this house, Louis.”) Styles to do. At least the one Louis knows. Harry's been twenty-one for less than a week and he's already apparently a grown man that Louis knows nothing about. Perhaps this is what parents feel like, because when you know someone for long enough, and their decisions suddenly don’t make sense to you, it feels like losing a piece of yourself to time.

A filthy bastard, that Time is.

When they arrive at their usual square, it's the same hustle and bustle as last week, only now Harry is more confident, more cool and collected, ready to start off on his own. It's a bit of a risk to hit the same spot so soon, but Louis knows that for Harry it's easier to start at a place they've run through countless times. He picks people's pockets for fun, now, for the pure pleasure of taking someone else's belongings and naming them his without them even realising. It still makes him giddy, every time he empties a wallet, or nicks genuine gold jewellery.

They work alone, the two of them. They branch off and surround the passersby in an invisible force field where all is theirs for the taking. It's a full half an hour before Louis’ own pockets are starting weigh down inside his coat, and he needs to empty the contents into the backpack that Harry's carrying.

He texts Harry from across the crowd, a simple _reload at fountain_. Louis is there before Harry, and spots him.

On his way towards the fountain in the centre of the square, Harry trips over his own foot. Harry righting himself seems to happen in slow motion for Louis, because the younger has bumped into a very important looking, old man who was just reading a very large novel. His heart has ceased all function and, for a street thief, he's irrationally afraid. Call it intuition.

But then he sees Harry's hand disappear into his own pocket. And Louis doesn't know if he should be impressed or furious or _terrified._

Almost in tune with Louis’ emotions, it begins to snow.

Louis pushes through the crowd, snowflakes gathering on his eyelashes as he rushes towards Harry. He blinks them away, grabs Harry's bicep and pulls him away from the mustached man.

"Give it," he demands once they've taken refuge inside the nearest café. "Give it to me right now, whatever it is."

Harry's blushing, feet inverted and hair dusted with melting snow. Louis wants to kiss him‒ And there go his strange thoughts getting away from him again, because Louis _actually_ wants to slap him, but he settles on letting Harry drop his mystery treasure into Louis' outstretched hand. Louis doesn't look down right away, just stares daggers into Harry's eyes. Then he realises that Harry has just placed something very small, and very unlike the wallet he was expecting, into his palm. When he does look, he nearly it drops to the floor in surprise.

It's a diamond. It's small and compact, glinting even in the harsh glow of the streetlamp just outside. And if Louis hadn't spent years training his eye to spot fake jewels and gems, he wouldn't know just how very real it is.

But he had.

And he does.

He clamps his hand shut, fish mouthing at Harry, who looks just as shocked, just as astounded.

There's nothing to say, the air between their suddenly close faces damp with their harsh breaths. Louis just blinks, Harry doing the same. They don't try to make sense of the situation, just come to a silent agreement for Louis to pocket it and for both of them to leave the café in silence.

The snatch-and-grabs continue on their way back to the flat, almost like a nervous tick. Louis hopes that maybe it'll take his mind off of what just happened, that it'll relieve the knot that twisting itself in his abdomen. But his hands are fumbling from the distraction. He nearly gets caught every time, the diamond sitting in the inner breast pocket of his coat, being shaken by the aggressive thumping of his heart.

Harry puts on lipstick the moment they get back, a deep shade of red that Louis knows is to calm his nerves. They spend the rest of the night in silence. Neither of them bring it up. Louis is fairly certain that there's no possible way to.

-

The balcony is windy, the sun just starting to set. It’s a wonder that Louis hasn’t fallen asleep yet, on his fourth glass of wine and corresponding cigarette. He’s been doing a lot more smoking lately, in the week since their… _find_. Or Harry’s, rather, who he’s dragged outside into the cold so he wouldn’t have to drink alone. It’s Harry’s favourite bottle of white, anyway, he might as well share it with the boy.

His heart is beating faster than usual, faster than the day he fell into bed with the diamond burning a hole in his chest because he hadn't even bothered to get undressed. Faster than the day he came out to his mum and dad. Faster than the day he ran away from home because he realised that the punches had stopped hurting.

But he's going to mention it, because they have to talk about it. They have to figure out what to do with it. Together.

"So it's a diamond."

Harry snorts. The orange glow of the sun tints his skin and the smoke that follows his laugh.

"Yeah, it's a fucking diamond," he says. A smirk breaks on his face then, and Louis' stomach flips. "What the _fuck_ are we going to do with it? Pawn it? Keep it? Take it to the bank? I'm n‒" Harry cuts himself off.

Louis looks at him curiously. "What is it?"

"You're drunk."

" _God_ , just a little, so what?"

Harry just looks at him, picks up Louis' glass and finishes it off. Louis is about to repeat his question when Harry stands up and goes inside. Louis doesn't move, limbs feeling like lead. He couldn't move if he tried, but he needs to talk to Harry. Even in his addled mind, thoughts swimming with no purpose or order, he knows that he needs to do this. Harry comes back though, with the plastic sandwich bag that Louis had put the diamond in. He had hid it, or at least he thought he did. Perhaps Harry just knows him too well.

"It's in a fucking sandwich bag, Louis. We don't know what to do with a _diamond_. We need to get rid of this before that man, whoever the fuck he is, finds us, and probably kills us to get it back. We don't need it."

"Not like _he_ knew what to do with it either. It was in his pocket, for God's sake." Louis laughs at the absurdity of the entire situation. "And so what about the baggy? It's safe. And we can pawn it. We've sold dozens of rings and necklaces, we won't get ripped off for it."

Harry sits back down, and they continue in silence until the sun has completely set.

The cold sobers Louis up much too quickly, and he can feel a migraine blooming just above his left temple. He rests the spot where it hurts on the cold metal of the railing, and Harry notices.

“Again?”

Louis scoffs. “More like _still_. Feels like it never goes away.”

“You need to start taking care of yourself, Lou. Smoking and drinking and deep-fried-everything just may kill you. You know, they say that‒”

After years of practice, tuning Harry out is relatively easy. What really bothers Louis is the fact that everything bothers him. He wishes he didn't have to steal, he wishes he didn't have to lie to his sisters, he wishes he didn't have a stupid fucking diamond in his hand, he wishes he didn't want to let Harry hold him until the urge to cry went away. It's not his “lack of self care,” it's his lack of being able to just worry about _Just Louis_ for once in his life. When one spends every waking moment trying to provide for another, “self care” is often forgotten or ignored.

“I just need to go to bed, Harry.”

If Louis had cut Harry off in the middle of his statistics and research recitation, they both choose to ignore it.

“At least let me run you a bath? And some tea?”

The sigh Louis lets out is melodramatic but entirely involuntary. It reminds him of the day Harry first told him about his… thing.

_“I don't understand what you're trying to tell me.” Louis stuffs more chips in his mouth, really not interested in anything besides willing the knot of anxiety in his stomach away._

_“We're starting a new life in a new city and I don't want any secrets.” Harry proceeds to rattle off his announcement like a list. “I like to wear lipstick. It's not because I want to be a girl. It's not because I want to be feminine in any way. It's makeup, and I wear it, and that's that.”_

_Louis is only the slightest bit confused. “So… You're saying you_ don't _want me to make a big deal of this?”_

_“What? Why would I‒” Harry is sixteen but Louis feels like he's talking to a full fledged, certified Adult. It's weird. “I'm just telling you so you don't start trying to decipher my ‘inner qualms,’ as you so elegantly put it. There's no qualms. Just lipstick.”_

_“Eloquently.”_

_“Whatever.”_

_Louis shrugs. He doesn't very much care what Harry does with himself, mostly because he doesn't have any direct say in it. Louis likes to invest his time into things he can control, because he sort of has a complex. So if Harry asks him which shade of pink he likes better, Louis will tell him, but he won't tell him what he can and can't do. That's just stupid._

_“Okay.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“That's what I said, yeah. Okay.”_

_Harry nods firmly, but looking vaguely disappointed that he was spared of going on a rant about social constructs and gender roles. Louis has had enough of those to last a lifetime, so he knows that look._

_“Well, good.”_

_Harry exits the café, leaving Louis to eat the last of his soggy chips alone._

“Good talk, Harold,” he mumbles to himself.

“What?”

Louis thinks that his intermittent flashbacks are just time catching up with itself, running in a loop and passing through him on its way to happening again.

“I think I still might be a little drunk.”

Harry guides him inside, the warmth curling around him like a gaseous blanket. The balcony window sounds like it shuts itself, but Louis knows it's Harry leaning on it effortlessly with his muscles-and-stuff. Yoga and health smoothies do that to a person.

It takes Louis a while to move through his nostalgic haze, removing his hoodie, then his shirt, his pants and socks. He leaves his boxers on, to spare Harry as much as himself, because in his head everything is awkward.

Harry's turned the dimmer switch in the bathroom nearly all the way down, and the entire space smells heavenly and is just perfectly warm with steam.

“This is really nice, H, thanks.”

And he really means it. He can feel his whole body relax, muscles feeling heavy in the good way.

“No problem, I'll leave you to it.”

Just as Harry's passing by, Louis grabs his wrist to stop him. There's a moment where they just look at each other and Louis panics because he isn't entirely sure why he did that. But Harry seems to understand in the way he does, and wraps Louis’ naked torso in a hug. It's warm and it's the closest thing to the gross cliché of _home_ that Louis has felt in a long while.

-

“Do you have to drive so bloody _fast?_ ” Harry shouts in Louis’ ear over the wind and the engine.

Louis narrowly dodges an old woman crossing the street, tilting his bright blue motorbike this way and that, weaving his way in and out traffic and pedestrians.

“I'm trying to save us time!”

It's a blatant lie and they both know it; Louis is simply a reckless driver. Harry's been griping at him for the last three years about how he's going to get himself, or both of them, killed one of these days. Louis realises then that he'd bought himself this bike rather than new shoes.

_But it was, arguably, the best thousand Euros that Louis has ever spent._

_The bike sits gleaming in their backyard, having just been wheeled through the gate by the delivery man. It's small, the size of a moped, but with all the added benefits of being a motorcycle. He names her The Blue Tornado._

_Harry calls it The Death Trap._

_“Can't you just ride a bicycle like normal people do? Do you have to ride this contraption?”_

_“It's still a bike, Harry, only it does nothing for my glutes.”_

_Louis can't help but run his fingers over it, and Harry must see the way he's genuinely happy, because for once he's done something for himself._

_“You really love it, don't you?” Louis just nods, not even looking up at Harry. “Just be careful, alright?”_

_Louis snickers, reaching behind the bike where he knows Harry can't see, and reveals two helmets._

_“Oh, for_ fuck’s _sake‒”_

Harry’s arms clutch his waist tighter. It makes Louis smirk, knowing that Harry puts at least some of his faith in him. They both know Louis would never do anything to put Harry in harm’s way, it's the reason they've lasted this long, have been able to survive. Louis is two beats of his heart shy of pretty much living _for_ Harry.

The wind in his face is liberating in a way that he hasn't felt since they first moved to Paris. He feels like the world’s at his will as he zooms beneath an overpass, over the _Pont Saint-Louis_. Harry giggles every time they pass over it, finding it funny that the one bridge that connects the two islands of Paris would bear the same name as his best friend. And even though Louis rolls his eyes each time, it makes his heart feel as though it may be too big for the small cavity of his chest.

They pull up to the shop, a run down little storefront that reads _Horan’s Pawning_ over the window in yellow paint. It's quaint but dazzling, much like Horan himself. Louis had stumbled upon this shop on one of his very first runs before he knew just how valuable jewellery could be. The store was much more vibrant then, loaded with customers and friends of the little old lady that had opened it. It's become more of a thieves trade since she died, all dark colours and dingy light. It's much more Louis’ speed now than it was before. Or maybe the shop is simply changing with him. Coincidentally.

Harry's littlest finger slips into one of Louis’ belt loops, a sign of his nerves. Louis lets it be even as he almost trips over the threshold.

"Liam, _what_ did I say about‒ Harry!"

Niall greets Harry with a warm hug that Louis glares at. But it's not because Louis wants a hug from Niall, not at all. That might actually be the last thing he wants, even though he gets one anyway.

"How's my favourite thieving duo?"

"Just fine," Harry answers for them both.

"Yeah, me and my spokesman are doing 'just fine.'"

Niall beams at them. "That's great to hear. What can I do for you lads today? I was just teaching Liam here about how not to get scammed by clever fellas like yourselves."

"That's convenient," Louis announces, whipping out the plastic bag from his pocket with a flourish, "Because we have something that we'd like to sell. This could be an excellent learning experience for... Liam, was it?"

Liam nods from where he's looking terrified and very new behind a counter that's littered with knick-knacks. Louis pulls out a cigarette, just to intimidate him some more.

"What'll it be, then? This must be a something special, I thought you two decided to stick to cash?"

Louis leans against the counter, keeping the diamond hidden in his palm. "It was Harry's second day in the field. We both thought it was time for him to be more than my goodie-bag, so I let him take to the streets. Unfortunately," he sighs dramatically, "Young Harold stumbled upon something bigger than we could've ever thought possible."

"Well, let me see!" Niall insists.

Louis hands him the bag, watches his eyes light up as he examines the rock. He can't quite seem to believe it. Liam is exuding nerves beyond what Louis can stand to be around, and Harry is just shifting from foot to foot as though Niall is going to tell him that it's got a tiny kitten trapped inside of it that needs freeing.

"Well?" Louis is impatient. "How much can we rob you for it?"

"Who did you take this from, Louis?"

"What?"

Niall’s expression has changed drastically, and shoves the bag back into Louis’ hands.

“Get this out of here. Louis, who the hell did you steal this from?” His Irish accent is getting thicker by the second. “It's a real diamond, sure, but we don't even carry that kind of money in here. Second, that diamond, it's not‒ Louis, _who did you take it from_?"

"I don't know!"

"Get it out of my shop, right now."

Niall's eyes are fiery in a way that Louis never thought they could get. He seems adamant for them to leave, and that this diamond is bad news. It makes Louis' gut twist in the most unpleasant of ways, so he grabs Harry by the coat sleeve and tugs him out of the shop as quickly as possible.

They watch Niall talk angrily to Liam through the window from outside of the shop. There's no way to tell what he's saying, and Harry is looking at Louis with the fear of an adolescent caught with a keg of beer. Louis can honestly say he feels much the same.

On the ride home, Harry keeps his nose uncomfortably nuzzled at the base of Louis' neck, but Louis can feel the tears leaking onto his skin and doesn't push him away.

-

"I don't want to die."

"You're not going to _die_." Louis looks out towards the horizon. Harry's nerves were getting under his skin, so he dragged them both out onto the cold roof. The wind is starting to build up as the temperature drops further.

Harry laughs stupidly. "You don't know that." If it were anyone but Louis, he would've gotten away with the tremble in his voice.

"You need a smoke, here, just one." Harry hesitates, apparently not nervous enough for a cigarette of his own, only ever content on stealing drags. "Fine." Louis pockets the cigarettes and the matches. "You wanna smoke some ? Is that it?"

It's his secret stash, and he's probably going to regret revealing it to Harry, but he can't stand looking at his pained face anymore. It's starting to irritate him as much as it's genuinely making him sad. So he lifts the plant out of the pot behind him and retrieves the plastic baggy from the bottom of it.

Louis has a lot of plastic baggies.

"What the hell, Lou."

"God, just shut up and smoke."

A joint and a half later, Harry's gotten high enough to shove his face in Louis' neck. It's mildly out of place, boundaries probably being crossed, but Louis easily blames it on the weed.

"Better?" Louis plucks the spliff from Harry's loose grip. "Wasting up my valuable resources, you freeloader."

Harry either doesn't hear him over his under-the-influence thoughts, or actively chooses to ignore him. Louis is offended by both.

"What do you think Niall said to Liam after we left?"

Louis' face loses all emotion, and he stares deadpan at the building across the street.

"Take another hit," he says monotonously. "You're supposed to not be thinking about it! Think about soft puppies and warm kittens or whatever it is you think about when you're high."

Harry whines. "I don't get high as often as you do." He sings out the last word, presses a kiss to where Louis' pulse is now erratic under his skin for reasons Louis cannot begin to fathom.

"That doesn't even‒” He doesn't bother finishing his thought. “If it bothers you that much, I'll go talk to Liam tomorrow. I think I can get him to budge."

Harry nods, close to sleep, Louis can tell. His breathing is getting deeper, head getting heavier on Louis' shoulder and before he can close his eyes, Louis dislodges him. He all but drags Harry's entire body weight into their flat and into his room. Harry’s own room, that is. Louis pulls the boy's jeans and shoes off, feeling like a proper good mum.

He does it mostly as a joke, just to top off the caretaker act. But Harry's soft, content smile and the way he leans into the kiss that Louis presses to his nose takes all of the humour out of it. Well… shit.

Louis doesn't have much time to process it before Harry's small voice is rushing to catch him so he doesn't leave.

“Will you stay?”

It's a bad idea for about five seconds, where all the evidence of Harry's less-than-platonic feelings for Louis flash through his own head. But then Louis realises that it would only be weirder if he didn’t stay, if he made up some half-assed excuse so he could stare at his own ceiling regretfully, confused and alone.

So he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay.”

It's been a long time since they've done this, squished into a single bed and become two people in one personal space. The last time hadn't been the first time, no, of course not. But many of those times had been because they hadn't had any other choice.

_“One bed, eh?”_

_The guilt immediately spreads tenfold in Louis’ chest, every regret he'd had about this move coming back to bite him in the ass full force. Like a piranha._

_“I-I'm sorry, H, it's all I can afford with the bills, and food, and‒ I. I didn't think‒”_

_“Fuck, Lou, no.” Harry's all earnest eyes and sincere apologies, his fluffy hair framing his now sad face. “You know I appreciate it, all of it. I really do. In fact, I honestly would rather share. You… you make me feel safe.”_

_Louis knows it's true by the way Harry blushes after he says it, like he hadn't meant to admit it._

_The boy has still got fading cuts and bruises on his face that get hidden under the rush of blood to his cheeks. Louis hates those marks, the ones that are so unnatural on his skin, that raise and penetrate the innocence his skin once held. And the ones on his face, those are the ones for anyone to see. The ones Louis thinks about in that moment, however, are the ones that only he's seen; the ones scattered across the softness of his stomach, the smoothness of his back, the tenderness of his thighs. Those are the ones that hurt Louis just as well. He would've done anything to prevent them, and would put them on his own body if he could. He'd mark himself up a million times over if it did anything to lessen Harry's suffering. But all he can do now is do his damnedest to keep his promise Harry that he won't be given any more. He's terrified of breaking that promise._

_“Alright,” he grumbles while getting into the bed. He leaves room for Harry to climb in as well, but when he looks up, Harry's expression reads more than reluctant. “Well, come on. I don't bite.”_

_As graceless as Louis knows Harry to be, he makes no fuss of joining Louis underneath the thin blanket. Perhaps it_ is _better this way. It's certainly warmer._

_Harry's fidgety for a while after that, rolling around and kicking Louis, shaking the entire bed frame. It goes on for so long that Louis has to wrap his arms around him to get him to stay still._

_“Would you quit moving? It's fine, really, just settle down and go to sleep.”_

Louis does the same thing now, curling himself around Harry.

“It's gonna be alright,” he whispers. “ _Petit soldat.”_

Their heartbeats fall in tandem, and before Louis knows it they're pressed flush together, Harry's head resting under his chin. It's comfortable, it's familiar, it's all Louis can do to not cry. Harry feels unsafe again. He's breaking his promise. He'd sworn on it that day on the bridge, the bridge that has come tumbling down since then. The weight of unkept promises had been too much for it to withstand.

“No more cuts and bruises.”

-

The first thing Louis notices upon entering the shop is the annoying jingle of a bell that wasn't there before. It startles him, and he turns around to inspect it, because he's walked into this shop hundreds of times and that has never happened before. When he turns back around, Liam has appeared behind the counter as if he'd teleported there. Seems that the bell is doing its job, then.

"Good afternoon," Louis greets him. The leather on the elbow of his jacket squeaks against the glass of the countertop. "Is Niall here?"

The first thing Liam says to him is, "It's eight in the morning."

"Thieves know no morning, Liam, my friend... Is Niall here?"

It makes no sense, but Liam chooses to ignore it and simply shakes his head. His bushy eyebrows are furrowed like he's trying to get a read on Louis but can't.

"Good. I have a question for you.”

Liam’s entire expression changes from curious and friendly to defensive and worried. “If it’s about that diamond, Niall told you, we can't buy it. We don’t have the money, it's‒”

“Not quite, puppy boy, calm down.”

Louis looks around, whips his fringe out of his eyes and pulls a cigarette from his breast pocket. He lights it, watching Liam’s nose scrunch up in distaste. Louis makes sure to blow his first drag right into Liam’s face.

“Thank you,” he deadpans.

“You’re welcome, now listen. I just want to know what he said to you about the diamond, and why the fuck he couldn’t tell me and Harry if it’s apparently so terrible.”

“He doesn’t want to get involved.”

Louis rolls his eyes, his patience for this entire situation quickly diminishing. “He doesn’t have to get involved. Just tell me what I’ve gotten _myself_ into so I can get out of it and I won’t involve either of you, I swear.” Liam still looks wary. “He’s one of my best friends and has been for a long time,” he lies easily, “I’d protect him if it killed me, Liam, I promise. It’s eating Harry alive, he thinks he’s going to die, pl‒”

Liam mumbles something in the midst of Louis’ dramatic performance.

“Sorry?”

“You might.”

Louis laughs, void of all ability he’d previously possessed to deal with this. “Oh, _do_ tell.”

“Okay,” Liam sighs dramatically, “He’s like‒ You seem pretty safe so far. I think as long as he didn’t see your faces…”

“He saw Harry. Probably me as well. But _what did Niall say?_ ”

Liam won’t meet his eyes. “Niall said that if you guys were smart you’d flee the country. That the diamond is something that man has been looking for his whole life. He didn’t say what was so special about it, just that you’re like‒ They’re looking for you at this point.”

Louis is sweating, but still doing his damnedest to keep up his façade.

“Like, personally? Is he sending men after us? Can he or they get into our flat? I need details, Liam!”

“Well it’s not like he gave me a full briefing! He’s not exactly one of them, is he? But that man is apparently, like, a thousand years old. I imagine he’s sending men‒ professionals‒ after you.”

Louis runs out of the shop and vomits on the sidewalk.

What's he supposed to tell Harry?

_“I promised I'd keep you safe.”_

The memory burns fresh in his head; he couldn't possibly let himself forget the first time and only time he'd broken his promise.

 _"I swore I'd protect you," Louis grumbles. It's more to himself than to Harry. "I promised you'd never get hurt, I_ swore _it, Harry. How are you supposed to trust me now?"_

_He presses the bag of frozen peas to Harry's black eye, blotches of white blocking his own vision in sympathy._

_"You know I'll always trust you, Lou."_

_“Harry, that's not the point. I‒”_

_Harry's eyes slip shut. "I'm sorry.”_

_"It's not on you, H," he sighs. He feels like he does a lot of sighing these days. There's blood everywhere, still flowing steadily from Harry's nose, his mouth, the gash above his left eye. "This one's on me. I shouldn't have let you stay."_

_Louis recalls the conversation, his fed up hissing in the alleyway of the club, Harry insisting on staying a little longer, on trying just a little harder to pull. He’d wanted to meet a nice a girl tonight, funnily enough, but instead got bombarded in the toilets by three burly men._ Fine _, Louis had said. Only it wasn't._

_Harry's crying silently now, tears slipping down his cheeks to join the mess on his face. There's a foggy tension between them, blurring the line between comfort and care. Louis has to do both, of course he does. They've been in this position before, Louis cleaning Harry's wounds, who's perched on the kitchen island._

_"It wasn't supposed to be this way."_

_Louis just nods. "You're going to stop wearing them, aren't you."_

_Harry starts sobbing uncontrollably, coughing and sputtering, getting blood all over Louis' shirt. Louis doesn't try to calm him, just lets him cry. Something happened, and if he talks, Harry won't tell him._

_Sure enough, "Th-they pulled my-my trousers off." There's more coughing, a sharp intake of breath. "They saw. And took my lip‒ my lipstick. They called m- me, they called me a-a. They‒"_

_"Hey, It's alright." The unspoken word rings in Louis' ears, having had it hurled at him too many times to count. "It's fine now, stop it. You're still bleeding everywhere, hush."_

_Harry collapses his full body weight over Louis' shoulder. "I'm so‒ I'm sorry."_

He couldn't let that happen again. The feeling of a vice of self-hatred clamping down on his stomach was too much to handle in that moment. Even the memory of Harry's bloody face, the tears that had spilled over before he had so much as crossed the threshold into their tiny flat at the time, makes his chest tighten uncomfortably.

Louis makes a promise to himself right then and there, keeled over on the sidewalk, that he's not going to let Harry get hurt. They have to leave, they have to do whatever it takes to get away from this. Louis doesn't know exactly how he's going to do that. All he knows is that he's going to hold true to his promise.

He won't let Harry down. Not again.

Not ever again.

-

Louis sits Harry down on the couch the next morning, right after a nice breakfast when he’s wrapped in his favourite jumper. Harry is also wearing very short shorts, legs and thighs shaved completely. The weed must not have helped much, had he needed all this. Louis knows that it’s just the way that Harry is, but more often than not, it’s therapeutic. Separate from the lipstick thing. He told him so, years later.

The television is playing static so that there’s background noise, because dead silence makes them both anxious.

“We have to leave.”

“Leave where?” He has a cigarette hanging from his lips and he’s chipping the dark blue nail polish off of his thumbs. _Aruba blue_ , it's called. “Paris? This is home, Louis, this is where we’ve made our life. We can’t just drop it and leave.”

He’s made it sound like a domestic dispute about uprooting their children and three dogs, and Louis’ stomach does something funny at the thought. He has no idea what it means. Still has no desire to find out.

“Liam told me that Niall said we should flee the _country_. And we can afford it, obviously, but I know you can handle too much change. But I really think we’re in danger here, and I’m not risking your‒ _our_ lives, H. I’m not.”

Harry looks close to tears, coughing out the smoke in his lungs.

“Stop smoking,” Louis chides, plucking the cigarette from his lips, reminiscent of the previous day, “You’re gonna make your asthma act up again.” Harry's been so worked up about this that his lungs have begun to fail him. He puts it between his own teeth. “We don’t have to leave France. We can go to Toulouse, or Marseille, somewhere near the water, south. You always wanted that, right?” There’s a beat of silence, the television humming in place of their awkward breathing. “We’re not going back to England, I promise.”

Harry looks up him, wide eyes brimmed with tears. “Promise?”

“I mean,” Louis laughs sardonically at himself, “We both know I’m not the best at keeping promises, but I swear we won’t go back there. Really, H. It was hell for me as well. France is home.”

Harry nods, over and over like he’s trying to convince himself. Louis has to pull him in for a hug, an intimate one that probably toes the line of _just friends._ It’s too tight and full of unspoken promises to be friendly, but it’s only because they’re all they’ve got.

“I trust you.”

The sharp breath that Louis intakes at the sentiment is completely involuntary. He already knows Harry trusts him, but the implication that he trusts Louis with his _life_? It scares him, because he doesn’t want to love this boy, he _can’t_. He can’t tarnish whatever remains of their platonic friendship and the history that they share. And there’s no telling what Harry wants, what his subtle, once in a blue moon flirting means. Louis is probably kicking the line straight out of the dirt when he lets his lips press a whisper of a kiss to Harry’s neck for comfort. He doesn’t really know if it’s more for him or Harry. He doesn’t want to.

“Are we going to keep the diamond?” Harry asks, reasonably. “Or should we bring it to the bank?”

“And tell them, what exactly?” Louis pulls away, but keeps one of Harry’s hands in both of his, twisting the rings on his slender fingers. “No, I feel like everyone knows who this bloke is, H. I think we should trash it.”

A heavy silence falls, Harry’s fingers twitching periodically with nerves between Louis’ own.

“Or.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow. “Or what?”

“We could just give it back? Let them come for us and just hand it over?”

No. No fucking way.  “Harry, they’d still see us as a threat, I doubt they’d let us live even _after_ retrieving the diamond.”

“Then what if we just drop it off? Find the man I took it from, leave it in his house for him to find, and he’ll call off the search! Then we won’t have to leave!”

His whole face lights up, and he looks so hopeful that Louis doesn’t think he can even attempt denying him this.

Louis diverts his eyes and looks around their flat, eyes flitting across the dozens of photos that Harry has pinned up over the years. This _is_ the home they’ve made. Two best friends, two broken boys on the run from themselves who managed to land a safe space in the heart of a beautiful city. Their coats and keys and shoes and knick-knacks, dirty dishes and everything in between; They litter the lived-in space. It’s theirs, and as much as Louis hates to admit it, he doesn’t want to give it up either. And Harry’s plan isn’t _entirely_ idiotic, it seems moderately plausible for… two…

His eyes catch on an empty space, a square on the wall that’s cleaner than the paint surrounding it. Louis knows what was there, has stared at it and run his fingers over it countless times. He stands up, squinting, trying to make sense of what he’s noticing.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s‒” Louis brushes his hand over the spot. “The photo of us. From the day we met. It’s gone.”

“Well, maybe it fell behind the‒”

“No,” Louis snaps. “It was pinned up. Five years and it never moved, never fell.” He looks down at the bureau in front of him, the blue pin that the photo had been stuck in the wall with resting on the top. “Someone took it.”

“What are you saying?”

Harry is frozen on the couch, staring at Louis, who feels like he’s in one of those stupid fucking films when he turns to Harry and says:

“They’ve found us.”

It's just a really awful moment where they sit there and look at each other. Louis feels like he's let Harry down, but he feels worse about the fact that Harry probably feels like he's let Louis down. Louis wants to tell him how ridiculous that is, that he couldn't possibly have known‒

“This is all my fault.”

“Harry‒” Louis moves back over to the couch quickly to try to get his arms around Harry. Luckily, the younger boy lets him. “Don't even say that. I pushed you into this, and there's no way you could've ever done this on purpose.”

“That doesn't mean it's not my fault.”

And, God, he just sounds so _broken_. It's then that Louis remembers how young he truly is, that he isn't meant for this life. It's not supposed to be this hard for him, not yet. Christ, not _ever_. Harry doesn't deserve half the shit he's been through, not by a long shot.

“It's going to be okay, H, I swear. We'll be alright.”

They sleep in the same bed that night, and start planning the next day.


	2. The Middle

Had Louis not had Harry with him when he moved to Paris, he probably would’ve turned to a life of lavish heists rather than pickpocketing just to get by. An entire of team of thieves and criminals had invited Louis to be a part of it countless times. He’s short and nimble, quick and delicate in his movements, and Zayn insisted that he could’ve trained him to be the best cat burglar in the city. (After himself, of course.)

Louis and Zayn had gone to school together, and had always been partners in crime, the crime part becoming more and more literal as they got older. But then Zayn moved to Paris, Louis met Harry, and suddenly Louis’ life had become something he feared more than enjoyed. They sort of drifted apart after Louis’ persistent refusal to join him even _after_ having made the decision to move, and Louis said he would try to make an honest living. That is, until he actually got to Paris himself, finding the pickings rather scarce and the thrill of stealing rather addicting. The two have not been in touch, but when Louis calls Zayn to tell him that he’s ready to delve into the world of high risk crime, the squeal on the other end dissolves any remaining distance between them. 

They meet up with Zayn the next day in a book store near _Place de la Bastille_. He and Louis fall into each other as if they’d just seen each other the day before and not close to ten years ago. Harry is a third wheel for about five minutes, because when Louis introduces them, it’s like they've been friends all along.

It warms his heart to see his two worlds collide; his past and his present. There’s no better feeling than when the two people you care about most are able to appreciate each other just as well. Harry is soft in the places that he’s been hurt, and it fits into the corners where Zayn’s become sharp and unyielding to cope with his own struggles. Something works about the three of them, something pure and simple. It makes Louis smile to himself.

He sits there silent, just watching them and sipping on his tea. It’s really sweet, because the way he had known Zayn, it hadn’t been like this. He and Zayn were a disaster, a wildfire that couldn’t find a place to settle down. They burnt out sometimes, needed time to rekindle and that’s when they’d find themselves hiding from the world, whispering confessions and making promises they weren't even sure they could keep. The darkness held all of their secrets, the darkness wasn’t something Louis ever had to be afraid of. He was safe there, Zayn trusted him there. The nighttime was soft touches and warm hugs, easy conversations and quiet trust. But when day broke, and they were set alight again, it was all rough punches and play-fighting, accidental bruises and shoulder bites. His smile falters when he remembers how blindly in love with Zayn he was, embarrassed and upset all at once. Zayn left before he had a chance to tell him, was gone before Louis even realised it completely for himself. He’d lost his best friend and confidant in a small bend of time, and just when he’d needed him most. Louis couldn’t put a label on his feelings and went along like that, alone and confused, spiraling out until he’d finally found someone to let in again. 

That’s where Harry fell into Louis' life and saved him from himself. Harry was his nighttime in the daytime; comforting words and gentle hands. Harry had been through hell and back but was still there when Louis needed him. They’d crawled out of that dark place together, stronger than ever, and Louis doesn’t so much as resent the old feelings that calling Zayn brought up as much as he realises what this feeling that’s simmering at the bottom of his heart means. 

Louis gasps silently, drawing attention to himself. He returns the smile to his face quickly before either of them ask what’s wrong. That’s the last thing he needs to be thinking about right now.

“What you grinning about over there, Tommo?” Zayn teases in the midst of laughing a joke Harry’s made.

Louis shakes his head. “You two would’ve been great friends.”

“We still can be, eh?” Harry nudges Zayn in his ribs with his sharp elbow. Because at some point during this the two of them have squished into one booth. “We’ve got enough in common just by complaining about you.” 

There are several moments of silence and staring before Louis mutters, “Fuck off,” and make Harry and Zayn laugh. Good to know he’s got two assholes on his hands now. He tells them as much.

“Is that a gay joke?”

And the laughter resumes.

Louis refuses to tolerate this teasing any longer so he flips a bird at each of them and reminds them why they’re here.

“If it’s quite alright with you two, I’d like to discuss the matter at hand, thank you.”

Harry wipes at his nose where water had just erupted from. “Sorry, sorry. Right, so, Zayn. Z-Zayn. Z‒ ” He starts giggling uncontrollably again and Louis fixes him with a deadly glare. “Sorry! So, we have this diamond‒ ”

“A _what_?” 

“A diamond, Zayn,” Louis cuts in. He reels into the full story, only stopping when intermittent chuckles come pouring out of Harry’s mouth. “And that’s why we need your help.” 

“Let me get this straight. You want to _what?_ ”

“Return the diamond.”

Zayn laughs, leans back in his chair and closes the book that’s sat in front of him. He wears glasses now, and smokes like a chimney, two things that him and Louis have both developed in common without meaning to. _Frères de sang_ , Louis remembers. He takes those glasses off now, and lights a fourth cigarette, pointing it at Louis.

“Good to know you’re just as fucked in the head as I remember.”

“You say that like it’s been 30 years.”

“It might as well have been, you look ancient.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Louis rolls his eyes, crosses his arms and suddenly feels 16 again. He hopes he comes across as remotely intimidating when he crosses his arms on the table. “Can you get us the information we need or not?”

“I’ll need the diamond, of course. Lucy can take a look at it, run some tests. Hopefully you haven’t wiped off all the fingerprints. Which– we’ll need to take yours.”

“What for?” Harry shifts nervously to follow up his question.

“Security reasons.”

Harry nods. “So you think you can get us in?”

“Us?” Louis scoffs. “There’s no us. I’m going in and getting out as quickly as possible. No us. Me.”

“But I got us into this mess, I could at least help get us out of it.”

“Oh, shut up, H, you sound like a bleeding cliché.” Louis tenderly grabs Harry's hand that's resting on top of the table to counteract his harsh tone. “Listen, you came up with the idea, you’ve done enough.”

Zayn slips Louis a piece of paper as he stands up. It’s started to snow, and Zayn mentions as much, looking out at it in wonder. He snaps out of it after a long moment. Louis would sacrifice several of his major organs to be able to get a glimpse inside of present-day-Zayn's head. 

“Come to this address tomorrow. 9PM. I assume your flat isn’t exactly a safe place at the moment so…”

Louis rolls his eyes at the dramatic trailing off. “ _So…_?”

“Um.” Zayn scratches the back of his head. “Well, I was gonna offer you to stay at my place but I haven’t really got the room for it. Plus, we’ll all be staying at The Den once we’ve got your information and stuff. So you can stay at a hotel if you’d like. _Les Jardins du Marais._ It’s not far from here.”

Both Harry and Louis’ mouths fall open.

“That’s like… a super expensive hotel,” Harry points out.

Zayn snorts at the pair of them. “Us thieves make more than our fair share, I’m sure we can spare some friends a night in a safe place.”

Louis hugs Zayn maybe a little tighter than necessary.

-

Suffice to say that dinner is awkward. They’re finally settled into the hotel and Harry is unusually quiet, picking at his lobster but not actually eating anything. Louis chalks it up to him feeling guilty for such an expensive meal until Harry’s finished the entire thing with a satisfied sigh and is still sulking. It was something he said, then.

"It's not personal, H," Louis says when it finally clicks. He half expects Harry to proud of him for not having to ask. "You ever seen a proper cat burglary? One person, in and out."

Harry sets down his fork gently from his dessert, with seemingly much restraint. "I just want to feel useful.” His voice is tight and the tears have welled up, Louis sees that now. "I don't want to stand around in my stupid expensive clothes anymore, doing fuck-all to actually deserve anything that I have. You pull all the weight, all the time. I'm sick of being your charity case. It took you _years_ to finally let me work with you and look where it's gotten us. I'm ‒ "

"You do know we're not actually stealing anything, right?" He regrets the words the moment they've left his mouth.

"That's not the _point_ , Louis, I‒ " He closes his eyes, nostrils flaring in the way that Louis usually rolls his eyes at. But the idiosyncrasy is filled with contempt now, and it worries him. "I don't have to put up with this." 

Harry gets up and storms off, leaving Louis with his mouth hanging open until he catches himself and propels after Harry's long strides. 

"Harry! H, wait‒ _Harry!_ " 

"Go away, Louis."

The icy tone hits Louis in a way that he doesn't think he can put into words, because Harry truly means it. He doesn't want Louis near him. That's not something Louis has ever had to deal with before.

Louis slows from a run to a jog, and pretends to be unaffected by it, deflecting his hurt with humour.

"But I've only just caught up with you. You've seen the films, this is where I apologise for being a dick and you yell at me…"

Harry doesn't slow down, bypassing the elevator and heads straight for the staircase. Louis whimpers quietly. Their room is on the ninth floor.

"No point in apologising if you're still gonna be a dick."

"But I'm‒ "

Harry laughs. "You never learn, Louis."

Louis freezes abruptly, tripping over his own foot. Harry doesn't look back after he says it, just keeps walking until he disappears into the staircase.

Louis' first thought is that _they never fight_. It's an unspoken rule between them that's crucial for survival because of how codependent they are. They need each other, for everything, and can't afford to hate one another for a single second. So he goes to the nearest bathroom, stares in the mirror and gives Harry twenty minutes before he heads up to their shared room. He finds Harry fully clothed on top of the duvet, shoes still on. He doesn't appear to have noticed Louis come in.

Louis kicks off his own shoes and climbs onto the bed, draping himself over Harry and nosing into his long hair before the taller can protest.

"Go away, Louis," he mumbles half-heartedly. There's not nearly as much malice in it as last time, hardly any at all. He doesn't mean it.

"Tell me what I did wrong." He winds his arms snugly around Harry's waist, crossing several boundaries and tucking himself against the boy's back much too close for comfort. He doesn't find himself caring, because he has a nagging feeling that the truth is going to come out tonight, whether he likes it or not. It’s come to a climax, in his heart and in his head. "I can't know to not do it again unless you tell me how I hurt you. Please, H."

Harry has probably rolled his eyes several times at this point. He just huffs.

"You treat me like a fucking _child_ ," he groans, like it pains him to explain. "Like I mean _nothing_ to you."

Louis knows for a fact that no insult could hurt as much as that.

"Christ," he takes a deep breath, tears working their way to the surface as he buries his face in Harry's neck. "You really believe that? I‒ " He doesn't know if he knows how to fix this, how to make up for years of deflection in an attempt deny his feelings and hurting Harry this way. "You mean _everything_ , Harry."

"Don't know if I believe that."

Louis stands up and walks around the bed to Harry's side, heart in his throat. He holds his hand out and stands waiting until Harry takes it. It takes a full minutes of them just staring at each other, but he does, and he lets Louis lead him to the bathroom.

"Sit."

"I'm not a dog," Harry snaps back.

"Never said you were, just sit somewhere so I can talk to you."

Harry sighs, hops onto the countertop and looks at Louis, just waiting.

"You remember the first time we met?"

"Obviously."

"You remember what happened that night?"

A scoff falls past Harry's lips, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. It's purely to hurt Louis, and it's working. He's never felt more hated in his life with Harry being angry with him on top of his own self loathing. 

"Worst fucking night of my life, Louis, how could I forget?"

_“Ow! Fuck.”_

_Louis struggles to right himself as he stumbles into the street. He’s tripped over someone, and some seconds later his alcohol-addled brain decides to wonder why he was the one to say ‘Ow.’_

_Loud sniffles and sobs come from behind him just as he regains his footing. He may be drunk, but his empathy isn’t lacking. He knows the sounds of those cries, has heard it from his mother and himself alike over the last two years. It’s the sound of someone who’s been hurt for no reason. It’s the sound of a broken heart._

_It’s coming from a kid, barely old enough to be at a club, Louis reckons. He’s hunched over the kerb and looks as though he’s fallen victim to the harsh crying; The boy can barely keep his body upright, face pressed to his knees._

_Louis rushes over as quickly as he can without face planting on the asphalt. The first touch he lends to the boy’s shoulder has them both jumping back, startled._

_“I’m sorry! 'M sorry. Are you alright?”_

_The kid stops crying for a moment, simply to just look at Louis with his wide, bloodshot eyes, just before his lip trembles and he resumes his pained wailing. He’s shaking his head, trying to stay something that sounds like, “No, no, no.”_

_“Hey.” Louis refrains from touching him again and uses soft words that no one else would be able to hear over the din of the club just behind them. “Did you come here alone?”_

_The boy nods, his curly hair falling further into his eyes._

_“I’ll stay with you until you’re alright to go home, okay?”_

_That’s seemingly the wrong thing to say, because it prompts a slew of protest and heavier crying._

_“You don’t want to go home, okay. Um… this is awkward, but you could come back to my place? I’ve got a roommate, he can call us a cab, and I’ll get you cleaned up. Is that_ ‒ _Did someone do that to your face?”_

_More nodding._

_There’s a bruise forming under his eye that wasn’t noticeable before, but it’s now turned an angry shade of purple that’s blooming bigger by the second. A cut sweeps across his cheek, blood flowing from his teeth. There's blood, so much blood. Louis sees that now._

_“What_ ‒ _What 'appened?”_

_“I_ ‒ ” _He manages to speak somehow, broken and raspy and quiet. “I was p-putting on my lipstick. They just_ ‒ _They. There was f-four of them. They just st-started_ hitting _me. I_ ‒ ”

_He starts crying again, less intense than before but enough that Louis has to gently hush him once more._

_“That’s… not okay. I just_ ‒ _Please come home with me, I’ll keep you safe from whatever monsters did that to you. I_ ‒ _Wha’s your name?”_

_The crying has lessened to sniffles as Louis has been talking to him, Louis is even able to get an arm around his shaking shoulders_ ‒ _probably from the cold._

_“H-Har_ ‒ _” He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and forces himself to say it. “Harry.”_

_“Alright, Harry. I’m Louis and I’ll be your guardian angel this evening.”_

_That makes Harry laugh._

Back in the present, Louis nods desperately. "I know. You were just a kid, scared and alone, with absolutely no reason to trust a drunken stranger like me, but you did. And for the life of me I still can't understand why. You never told me ‒ mostly because I never asked ‒ but…" Louis has no idea what kind of bullshit he's spewing, but it seems to be working, because Harry’s fidgeting, looking guilty. "Can you tell me?"

A few beats of silence pass before Harry mumbles something at his knees.

"What?"

The younger boy rolls his eyes, huffing like a teenager being forced to confess. "You treated me like you owed me something. I know that doesn't make any sense, but it did at the time. That's exactly what I'd thought to myself when you sat me in your bathroom and cleaned the blood and tears and makeup off my face. You held me like I was special. My family was ashamed of me, I had no friends, I was just a stupid little _kid_ and you were the first person to ever make me feel like ‒ like I meant something… to anyone."

Louis feels his whole face go soft, and he places his hands on Harry's knees so that he'll meet his apologetic and thankful eyes.

"It's kind of insulting when you think that you mean nothing to me. But still. I'm sorry for being a prick and making you feel that way. You don't owe me anything, you don't have to earn your keep." He brushes a piece of hair out of Harry's face. "I just want you to be safe and happy because that's what I promised you as well as myself."

"You don't have to apologise," Harry says quietly. Their faces are dangerously close now, and Louis wonders which one of them has been leaning in. "I just want to be a part of it, you know? I'll always owe you for saving my life, and I know I fuck things up, but I just want to feel needed. I feel like you just tote me around like your rescue puppy, not like you actually need me. I serve no real purpose for you."

Every word hits Louis' heart, sharp stabs of an emotion that he can't place. Only, he can. 

It's overwhelming, and without a thought, he closes the breathy gap and presses his lips harshly but quickly against Harry's. It's rash and it's stupid and it's probably ruined everything, but it's the truth. And it seemed to Louis like he was asking for the truth.

It's over before Harry has the chance to pull back, and Louis stares blankly at his stunned face.

"What'd you do that for?" he asks, breathless.

Louis isn't going to apologise, because he isn't sorry. "Because that's what you mean to me. Everything. You're my best friend and you're all I have, and there's no way in any universe or time or place that I don't need you. You're all I'll ever need. Have been for a long time."

He leaves the bathroom, letting the tears blur the room in front of him as he heads down to the bar. He thinks he hears Harry call his name, but he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t believe it.

-

Louis doesn’t see Harry again until the next day when they meet Zayn at the warehouse he so kindly gave them the address to. Harry won’t look at him, no matter how much he stares. Even Zayn notices the obvious tension.

“Who took a shit in _your_ cereal?”

Neither of them say a word, and Louis doesn’t bother looking up to see Harry’s reaction. He just watches Zayn’s footsteps and follows him through the drafty building. Louis inhales Zayn’s secondhand cigarette smoke, twitchy and tense because he’d left his own in the hotel room and forgotten to take them amidst his intense effort to not invade Harry’s space any more than he already had.

“So I’m gonna need you two to get your fingerprints taken. Mack can do that for you.” He points at an enthusiastically waving and smiley colleague. “He’ll run you through the standard procedure around here, give you a tour, and you’ll end up at Lucy’s, where she will give you the run-down on some very exciting info that I think you’d like to hear. Now if you’d excuse me,” Zayn says with a flourish of his cigarette, “I have some hackers to round up.”

Mack is tall, slim with stormy grey eyes that can see right through their fake smiles.

“No bullshit,” is the first thing he says. “I’m a thief, just like you, a con artist. I can tell when people are pretending.” Louis has no idea what to say, so he just lets his smile fall off of his face. “Alright then, here we go.”

It’s easy for Louis to go through the motions, getting his fingers stamped and pressed into a sheet of paper, getting his picture taken. It falls somewhere between an arrest and the first day at a new school. 

Mack leads them through the warehouse once they're finished. He shows them where they can find food, where they can crash for a nap, and a huge, walkin closet that holds a variety of spare clothes and disguises. 

Louis is about to complain about how boring it all is when Mack whips open a door that contains three people practicing what Louis assumes to be pickpocketing in a variety of ways. 

“This is our pickpockets training room, where everyone starts out. Everyone here has to earn their keep doing something; so if you’d like, Louis, you could apply for a paid position as a Master of Deception. I hear you’re quite the _Oliver Twist_.”

Louis blinks, hoping it’s a joke. “Is that the official title?”

A smirk paints Mack’s face, which is answer enough. 

There are only three other training rooms in the warehouse. 

One is for physical training and agility for cat burglars, which Louis is to enroll in the following day. He hates physical activity more than he hates Harry’s occasional forcing him to eat healthy. Louis gripes about it under his breath, claims his natural form is just fine, that he doesn’t want his pristine muscles to ache. He doesn’t stop mumbling until Mack stops them short and he bumps into Harry. They both fix him with a glare, and he finally shuts up about it.

The second is for hackers, filled top to bottom in complicated technology that Louis doesn’t understand but Harry stares at in wonder. Louis can tell that he’s got a million questions on the tip of his tongue just by the way he’s nibbling at his lip to the point where it actually draws blood. Mack has stopped long enough to explain just what the point of the equipment is, and Harry is thoroughly intrigued, eyes like saucers and Louis is thoroughly intrigued by how beautiful he looks when he’s interested in something. Louis misses the entire speech. Mack probably notices, but doesn’t mention it.

The last one that Mack shows them is for specialized missions. 

The specialized mission room is the only empty training room out of the four, and Louis is about to ask why when Mack dives right into an explanation.

“We use this room to plan for high priority, high risk heists, such as the one that you two will be joining us on. It’s not much a training room as it is a meeting room. We work out every kink, every possibility of failure and success, every escape and every way to do it until we account for everything and choose the one that’s best. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time in here, so get used to the smell of corkboard.”

Louis assumes that Mack says this because the entirety of the room’s walls are covered in it.

The door shuts and neither Harry nor Louis ask a single question.

Their tour ends, as promised, with Lucy. She's a short, mousy girl that works in the warehouse’s makeshift lab. She looks like a proper scientist, with a smile similar to Mack's greeting grin, but white lab coat that’s all her own.

“Once Lucy is finished with you two she'll show you to your room. Dinner's at eight. Don’t be late.” He seems entirely too pleased with his rhyme. “This is Lucy,” he says, slinging an arm around her, “She's our top chemist, forensic analyst, and lab technician. She knows everything there is to know about everything.”

Louis and Harry shake her hand one after the other, both surprised there's not a hint of a blush of modesty on her cheeks. 

“Hi boys.” Her strong French accent catches Louis off-guard. “I've got some good news for you, follow me ‒ _Au revoir_ , Mack!”

She leads them into the lab, over to a small table with a big, fancy microscope on it that's hooked up to a laptop.

“I feel like I'm in an episode of _Dexter_.”

Lucy laughs at Louis’ offhand comment, spinning around in her stool. “Get used to it.” Then she gets serious. “So, luckily for you two, and since you’ve just got your prints in our system, I was able to rule out yours and find one that belonged to someone else. He’s a criminal, has served time, _and_ he has a name and current address. Tomorrow we’re going to send out our techs to set up some inconspicuous cameras to keep an eye on him, learn his routine, maybe see if we can bug the place. So, good news indeed.”

“And what exactly _is_ his name?”

It's the first words Harry has spoken in Louis' presence all morning.

“Frédéric Málvoleur.”

Harry looks confused, which makes Louis confused.

“There's no way. Málvoleur is not as old as that man was. I've looked him up way too many times, I know there's no way that's him.”

“Perhaps he was wearing a disguise, Mr. Styles. He is a wanted man, after all.”

Somehow, that doesn't make Louis feel better about any of this.

-

Laying in the dark of an unfamiliar room, cold and smothered by the ringing silence of a thieves den, Louis finds himself missing Harry. They should probably talk about it, but the wound is still fresh, and Louis realises that that's a fucked up way to think of this. It's not _wrong,_ because Louis is allowed to feel any way he likes. He's allowed to be in love to the point where it hurts. Just because the recipient of that love happens to be his best friend, his best friend shouldn't turn his back on him for it.

So Louis gets up, stumbles over his own shoes across the room to Harry's bed. He's snoring softly, but Louis knows he's a light sleeper. It takes him four minutes of staring into the pitch black before he crawls into bed behind Harry, winding his arms around his torso underneath the warm covers. Harry's always been his personal, platonic space heater. They've crossed this boundary too many times for Harry to squirm uncomfortably the way that he does. 

“Why are you pushing me away, Harry.”

“You can't spring things on me.”

Louis feels winded. Sure, it’s been enough of a shock to himself that he actually reciprocates Harry’s long-since-blatant feelings for him, but it’s still… a lot. He knows he’s been stupid, regrets every time he’d brushed Harry off or pushed him away. But it had never been something they talked about, it was just _Harry_. Harry’s world revolved around Louis and Louis just kept on turning. He doesn’t know how or when ‒ But he knows now, they both do. He thinks that’s what matters. 

“And _you_ can't just shut me out. Talk to me. We always talk. Why not about this?”

Harry sighs, moves as far away from Louis as possible, pressing himself against the wall. But it’s futile; Harry’s too tall and lanky now, takes up more space than he’s used to. His feet still brush against Louis’ leg.

“Louis, I ‒ I need to figure it out. On my own. There's nothing to talk about, I just need to process.”

“Pro ‒ ” Louis stands up, heart suddenly feeling too small. “Alright. Okay, fine. Just stop shutting me out, Harry. It's fucked up, and it hurts, in case you cared.”

The tears spill over just as Louis’ head hits the pillow, as though he's safe by himself, even though he knows that Harry can hear him sniffling until his sinuses feel about to burst.

It's the first time he's cried since he was fifteen.

_The echo of Louis’ feet hitting the cement is the only thing that can be heard on the empty road. It’s time like these he wishes he lived in a real city, where there are convenient stores on every corner and the closest thing to civilisation doesn't have his lungs bursting right out of his chest._

_When he finally does make it there, he rummages through the messy discount makeup bin, desperate to identify something, anything, that he can cover up the mess on his face with. Mum will be home any minute, and she doesn’t need another thing on her plate. She's already fretting about extra shifts, the looming threats, the ever-growing girls on her hands. He has to sort this out, he has to beat her home. He keeps glancing at his wristwatch, counting down the seconds until her car pulls around the corner of their quiet street._

_“Where is it, where_ is _it. Shit!”_

_His fingers clamp down on a small tube, one he knows will work because it did last time, and the time before._

_Frantic is the only way to describe the way Louis throws down as many bottles of the skin tone liquid as he can fit in his hands. The checkout girl takes a second glance at him, but one look at his bruised cheeks keeps her mouth shut and her eyes downcast._

_Frantic is the only way to describe the way Louis runs home faster than he's ever run in his life, even at footie practice. He nearly trips over his own feet more than enough times, and he stumbles onto his street haphazardly._

_But he’s too late. Her car is in the driveway._

_The door creaks on its hinges, inevitably, and his mum is on him the moment he steps through the door. She’s wrapped him up in a hug, much too quickly to even notice his face. But when she pulls back, after all of her worried mumbling, she sees it, and Louis’ eyes immediately start to burn with shame._

_Louis hears her saying his name, hears her asking what happened, who did this, how did he get those bruises. But all he can do is focus on the rapid beating of his heart and not dropping the bag from his trembling hands._

_“Louis.” Her voice is low, like she doesn’t want anyone but Louis hearing her. “Did he do this?”_

_Louis knows who she means. She means the man she married, the father of five-out-of-six of her children, the man who practically raised Louis._

_Louis nods, his lip trembling and his tears spilling over. He's crying, suddenly, and he's crying hard._

_All hell breaks loose from there._

He finds himself shaking in the dark, the memory so vivid and still not long enough ago. Louis’ heart aches every time he thinks of her ‒ of all of them ‒ because he never meant to leave them. But they were safer, safer than Louis was at least. He’d never hurt his own flesh and blood, said so himself on multiple occasions. But he had no problem hurling threats at Louis, hurling insults and injuries of the literal kind. Louis had to leave, had to get out. Three years had been enough. His life was on the line.

She helped him, Louis remembers. It sometimes slips his mind just how much his mum had helped him, the both of them ‒ Louis _and_ Harry. She’d just wanted her baby to be safe, no matter what the cost. She had to choose which way to lose him.

The tears don’t stop no matter how hard he tries, because everything is hitting him all at once. The pain of the past and the pain if the present start to mold in his mind as well as his body, and it’s all he can do to be quiet, to not let a sound escape his lips. 

But Louis has never been one to keep his mouth shut.

A sob wracks his body, and he coughs, loud and wet and it’s obvious that he’s crying. There’s no way Harry’s asleep yet, no way that he hasn’t heard him. Now it’s just a game of whether or not Harry cares enough to come over, to comfort him.

Louis scrubs at his face, not bothering to keep his aggressive sniffling quiet any longer. His whole face hurts, feels swollen and rubbed raw, but he just can’t stop _thinking_. The memories assault him from the inside out, and all he’s really capable of is focusing on that rather than picturing his future without Harry in it. Harry must hate him. He sure as hell hates himself right now.

Harry’s comforting touch never comes, and Louis if left in the dark with a head full of despondence, the night falling into him. 

He knows he isn’t worth it.

-

Louis signs up to be a pickpocketing teacher first thing the next morning as well as a student in Zayn's cat burglary training. There are other teachers, but his training needs to be quick and done by the best. Zayn seems to be the self-proclaimed best, but no one disagrees.

“You ever taken a gymnastics class? Yoga? Something stretchy?”

Louis looks at him as though he's turned into a giant, talking venus flytrap. With the questions he's asking, he might as well have. It's what Louis is picturing anyway. Louis has a hard time listening to people.

“Uh… Yes?” is what he goes with.

Zayn's following expression is the human equivalent of about ten question marks. He doesn’t say anything though, just hands Louis a paper with a stretching regimen on it and waves him over to the rock climbing wall at the end of the room. Louis’ hands are suddenly very clammy at the sight of the bell that’s forty feet off the ground.

He nudges Zayn. “You don’t, uh… You don’t have a shorter wall to start with?”

Turns out, he doesn’t.

The first hold is when Louis knows that he's going to be in pain for days. His hamstring protests against the stretch, as does every muscle in his back at the far reach. He tries to go quickly, to impress Zayn, but he ends up losing his footing more than a few times. He realises after his tenth slip up that falling would be more embarrassing than taking a long time to reach the top. 

“Alright up there?” Zayn asks once he's halfway. He sounds smug. 

Louis doesn't look down, nor does he respond. He just keeps climbing. His stomach hasn't turned yet and his hands have stopped sweating, but he genuinely cannot feel his legs.

It takes Louis forty-six minutes to scale the wall and ring the bell, his entire body seemingly aflame. When he finally let’s the auto-belay lower him back to solid ground, he goes a tad too far and collapses flat on his back, the automatic rope pulling back and lifting his hips off the ground slightly. He smirks. 

“Z-Zayn?”

“Yeah?”

Louis is too weak to even lift an arm, but he’s determined to get to the punch line. “Hand me that fire extinguisher?”

Zayn looks down at him, throws a towel onto his stomach and walks away mumbling something about ‘a fucking idiot.’

“Oi!” His voice is all high pitched. “Be careful there! I bruise easy.”

Zayn offers him a hand, helps him up, and gestures for Louis to follow him down the stretch of artificial hallway. 

“Right, so. You understand that this mission is time-oriented?”

Louis nods obediently. 

“Good. That means that you must follow our schedule _exactly_. If you waste even a single minute, it could jeopardise the entire thing. And in turn…”

Louis wonders if Harry is receiving a similar speech, wherever he is. Harry's probably taking it very seriously, maybe even writing down notes. He's always been smarter than Louis, as well as more willing to abide by rules. Harry likes structure, order, things to be a certain way. He's proved asking if there's any way he can make a color-coded ‒

“Louis!”

“Hm? Yeah, I understand.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. They've somehow ended up in front of Louis and Harry's room. When did that happen?

“You understand.”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘P.’

“You understand… What? Exactly.”

They both know Louis very well didn't hear a single word that was said, but Louis is anything but humble about his ability to hear things with listening. Or, in this case, saying something vague enough that he'll get away with it. 

“Time,” he settles on. 

“You understand time.”

Zayn is glaring at him hard, and he suddenly understands the phrase _if looks could kill_. Actually, that might be about the level of attractiveness someone… possesses.

“Yes.”

Zayn shoves the timetable into Louis’ chest. “I fuckin’ hope so.”

-

Louis knows why Harry wears lipstick. Harry had told him that he'd never seen the point in any kind of makeup being just for girls, that if he wanted to use the myriad of colours to look nicer, to feel better about himself, he should be able to. Louis understood, still does, and it made Harry feel so at home that he never went back. Harry told him that himself.

But Louis knows that there are different shades for different days, which lipstick and which subtle eye-shadow for how he's feeling. There's no set system, but Louis has picked up on what Harry wants to say but isn't telling him by what colour he uses. 

Their fifth day at the warehouse is a pale pink day, and Louis knows that Harry is going to step out of his comfort zone. He wore the same colour the day he first went pickpocketing, the day he bought mascara and made it obvious that it was for himself. The same colour stained his lips on the day that Louis met him.

That's why it doesn't come as a shock when Louis bypasses the Tech Room and sees Harry squinting at a computer screen and typing furiously. He's already five minutes late to lessons with Zayn, but what's five more minutes to check up on his best friend?

“Joining the Nerd Squad, Styles?”

Harry doesn't look up, doesn't give any indication that he's heard Louis besides the minute twitch of his head in his direction that Louis knows is because he's so attuned to him.

“What's it to you, fledgling?” A tall, lanky figure twirls around in a chair, facing Louis with a condescending expression. “Aren't you meant to be somewhere?”

The only thing that Louis’ brain manages to come up with is, “What’s it to you, asshole?” It’s interesting, to say the least, and shocks everyone in the room. Granted, it’s only the three of them, but a certain tension is set anyway. Harry is staring angrily at him. Louis is uncomfortable.

But _fledgling? Really? Who talks like that?_

“I’m ‒ ” He points a thumb towards the door as he backs out slowly. “I’m gonna go.”

Neither of them bid him farewell. With that, Louis remembers last night, and how they’ve both decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. Louis is fine, and they’re back to their regularly scheduled angst. It's nauseating. 

“Who’s the six foot snake working in tech?” he asks Zayn upon arrival.

“You’re late.”

Louis grabs his personally fitted harness and hooks it up to the auto-belay rope before stepping one leg into it. He knows that he’s supposed to do it the other way around, as Zayn has told him countless times, but he doesn’t really have a knack for taking advice. 

“Did you know about Harry signing up for that?”

“You’re late.”

Zayn is watching him struggle with getting his second leg in the harness.

Louis shrugs. “I overslept. Happens.” But apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

“You ungrateful _shit_ ‒ Are you going to take this seriously at all?”

“I ‒ ”

“No. Do you have any idea what the people here are sacrificing for you?” Zayn is moving closer with every word. “They wake up and get where they need to be _on time_ , for _you_. My friends here, my _family_ , are taking time from their jobs and _lives_ to keep you alive.” Louis’ back hits the rock climbing wall. “If you’re not going to take this seriously and you’re just going to walk around here insulting people like a self-entitled dick, I’m going to call it off. They’re doing this as a favour. So the least you can do is pretend to care.”

Louis is afraid, angry, and guilty. His heart is racing and he can feel tears burning in his eyes for the second time in two days. He truly hadn’t thought about how many people were putting their lives on pause for him. Louis knows that he doesn’t deserve any of it, but he really had overslept because Harry took his phone to breakfast since his own was dead. 

“I’m sorry.”

Zayn still looks furious. “Are you? Or are you just saying that so I don’t beat the shit out of you?”

Louis must look seriously pitiful if Zayn believes him when he nods. Zayn steps forward then, ignoring Louis’ flinch, and pulls the hook from the harness rather swiftly. Louis feels stupidly defeated as he sniffles and finishes doing up the harness. When it’s secure, Zayn hooks him up again, taking his stopwatch out of his pocket.

“First week and you’ve already made me yell at you.” He sighs at Louis’ wet eyes. “I can’t be your friend in here; nothing will ever get done.”

Louis nods, still unable to find his voice.

“Do better than yesterday and we’ll get ice cream.”

When Louis lowers himself back to the ground, muscles still aching from yesterday, screaming for relief even more so today, Zayn welcomes him back with a smile.

“Mint chocolate chip?”

“You know it.”

-

Two full weeks have to go by before things really start looking up. Louis’ muscles have stopped aching constantly, finally getting used to his gruelling regimen of climbing, exercising and stretching. He’s becoming quite a skilled acrobat very quickly (Zayn’s told him so). Harry’s started talking to him again, casually in passing and short sentences about his day here and there. They're mostly about his new best friend, Nick, but Louis will take it if it means he gets to be on the receiving end of Harry’s words once more.

They’re also about to have their first, proper, all-day meeting in the intimidating room that Louis hasn’t seen since that first day.

“Alright everyone,” Louis still isn't used to seeing Zayn so in charge, “We’ve collected two weeks worth of surveillance, and I think that’s reliable enough to establish a routine, don't you?” He turns to Nick and Harry. “We still have our hands on that drone?”

He’s not asking one of them in particular, but it’s Nick that answers. The bastard probably thinks he's better than Harry. 

“I’ve disabled its tracking device and Harry’s installed a second camera underneath so that we could get an aerial view of the property and make a reasonable layout of the inside.”

“Excellent.”

Louis spaces out after that, missing half of everyone's notes because he’s sat across from Harry. 

When he tunes back in from gawking at the way Harry looks in glasses, with a deep rose colour staining his lips, there are several more papers and diagrams on the wall than he remembers and Zayn is saying his name.

“Lou? You with us?”

Louis is more than confused. “Hm? Yeah… what?”

“ _Louis._ ”

“No! I’m here now. Just… spaced out a second.”

There’s a collective eyeroll from more than half of the room, Harry being one of them. Louis is less subtle than he strives to be. 

“I just wanted to let you know that you can review this information whenever you need to and that Nick and Harry going to debrief you on the security once they get up to speed on that so we can refine your training further. Got that?”

Louis gives a curt nod, eyes still unable to focus on Zayn completely. His whole face is blurry. 

“Alright. Lunch time, everyone?”

The room clears, Harry lagging behind to collect his laptop and all of the papers that Nick left behind. Louis doesn’t like it, the way he’s being treated like an intern. He tells Harry as much.

“I’m putting in my time around here to actually learn something and be of use while doing something I’m interested in. Something _you_ didn’t think I could do.”

“Harry, you know I ‒ ”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Harry continues packing things up with a bit of a struggle. So Louis weaves around the table and the skewed chairs to help Harry pile up the papers and laptops in his arms. Harry’s eyebrows furrow deeply, like he wants to snap at Louis but doesn’t want the confrontation. It pains Louis to see Harry so hesitant to be honest with him, but more so to be so angry with him.

“Can we please talk about this, H? It’s killing me not talking to you. I don’t ‒ I just miss you.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere for you to miss me.”

Louis wants to roll his eyes, but doesn’t. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Harry, you hardly talk to me. And when you do it’s about your pal Nick and your cool computer stuff that you _know_ I don’t understand.” He hasn’t been able to say any of this, and now that he’s started, he can’t stop. “You never ask me what I’ve been up to, how everything’s going. Weeks, Harry, _weeks_.” He’s starting to sound hysterical. “We’ve never gone weeks without talking, we _can’t._ If I don’t have you, I,” Harry’s still staring at him with a blank expression, “I don’t have anything H, I told you. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I’ve ruined our fr ‒ ”

“You don’t have to keep waiting for me to talk to you.” Harry shrugs, all of the stuff he’s collected finally in order. “We sleep in the same room, for God’s sake.”

_He tried._

Louis doesn’t even know what this is about anymore, doesn’t know why Harry’s treating him like he’s murdered someone he loves. “I don’t want to force you into anyth ‒ ”

Harry doesn’t want to hear it, or anything Louis has to say, apparently.

“ _Please_ , Louis.” He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Stop with the victimising bullshit. You wanna talk about this? We’ll talk about it. Later. I can’t right now, I’ve got stuff to do.” 

He briskly exits the room, leaving Louis with a half-assed promise and a continuously breaking heart. He wonders when it’s going to stop.

_“You can't do block letters and cursive!”_

_“But then the ‘Y’ wouldn't fit, Harry!”_

_“Only because you thought we didn't need to trace it.”_

_There are markers strewn about the floor. They're making a poster for Harry's birthday. It's a big one. He's turning eighteen._

_“I know how big letters should be.”_

_It's quiet for a few moments, the hum of the space heater vibrating through the silence._

_“This would be a great opening joke for a stand-up comedy show,” Harry muses._

_But it'd be terrible and they both know it._

_They sprinkle glitter on the poster, on each other. By the end they're covered head-to-toe, floor-to-ceiling in a rainbow of sparkly particles. Harry's never looked happier._

_“We should go to the Pride Parade this year.”_

_Harry's eyes sparkle, and so does glitter surrounding them. “Really?”_

_“Really.”_

_It's something they've talked about a lot, something Harry really, really wants. He wants to go out there, for the world to see, and just be himself. He wants to spread his love all around with people are just like him, just like the both of them. It's somewhere they fit in and don't have to apologise for being who they are. They don't have to be afraid there._

_Harry flops over onto Louis, wrapping his skinny arms around Louis’ waist. Louis is pretty sure that's he's sat in glue and he's got glitter in unmentionable places, but with Harry holding onto him so tight, he doesn't really care._

Louis wants nothing more than Harry's trust back. He misses Harry by his side, matching every beat of his heart. 

-

Later turns out to be at midnight… the next day. Louis’ palms haven’t stopped sweating since their conversation, which made his rock climbing session for the day mostly pointless. No amount of chalk could subside the slipping, and he'd fallen to the bottom so many times that Zayn had no choice but to send him off. 

Harry’s right there, five feet away, just out of reach. Louis would give anything to go back to the last time he was allowed to climb into Harry’s bed in the dark before it’d become something of a taboo. He knows that Harry can feel how nervous he is, knows that he's staring into the pitch black and taunting Louis’ inability to start the conversation. It’s cruel and unusual, obviously some kind of punishment. Either that or Harry is developing some sort of superiority complex. Maybe it’s a power play.

“You can come over here,” Harry says into the dark. It’s more than Louis could’ve hoped for.

He doesn’t want to seem to eager, so he counts to five and tries to subdue the spike in his heart rate before standing up to walk over to Harry’s bed. Harry’s already pressed as close to the wall as he can manage when Louis slides under the covers. He doesn’t dare try to tuck himself into Harry's side like he normally would, and it takes a conscious effort not to after being deprived of it for so long. He hopes that stops after tonight and that he can fix this friction between them so he can properly show Harry just how much he cares about him.

“I'm sorry, Harry.”

“What for? I don't want an apology from you, I just want an explanation.”

Louis closes good his eyes, facing the same darkness he would if his eyes were open.

“I don't know what you ‒ for what? _You're_ the one who said you needed to ‘process’, so why am I the one that has to do the talking?”

His voice went from a whisper to mildly shrill and he knows he needs to stay calm or else cause Harry shut down and shut him out again. 

“Sorry,” he amends, “But ask me a question if you want to know something, H, I can't read your mind.”

The first indication that Harry is at all emotionally affected by the strain of this conversation is the sound of his trembling sigh. Louis has heard that sigh on nights that his mother called, nights that he returns home in a flurry of embarrassment while angrily scrubbing the lip stain from his mouth. There are dozens of heart wrenching occasions that require that sigh, and Louis is comforted to know that this is just as important. 

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry laughs. “I doubt that.”

“It ‒ ” Louis clears his throat. “It was when I kissed you. I felt it like… finally come to head there. You’ve always meant so much to me, ever since we met. I just didn’t realise how much until ‒ Until I found out you thought you meant nothing to me. That couldn’t have possibly been true.  I figured that out when I kissed you,” he shrugs in the dark, speaking as though he was reciting statistics, “I figured out that I loved you more than just my best friend, my co-worker, my only companion.”

The silence is the tell-tale gauging and understanding that Harry is doing of his words, his confession. Harry probably mapped this conversation out in his head, never once expecting to hear that Louis had feelings for him without either of them knowing.

“You could’ve just told me, you know. We could’ve _talked_ about it? Like adults.” He’s being patronising now. “You fucking knew, Louis, you knew how I felt about you. You didn’t have to use it against me when I was angry with you about something important.”

“I wasn’t using it against you ‒ ”

“I don’t recall interrupting _you_.” Louis’ stomach tightens uncomfortably, so he keeps quiet. “I was confused, Louis. I was confused about something you’ve been brushing off for years and you just ‒ I’m sorry for not talking to you. It was stupid and immature, so I’m apologising. But… But I’m not sorry for being angry. Like you said, we’ve always talked about stuff and maybe this isn’t something we shouldn’t have left to sort itself out. You should’ve told me.” 

“I’m sorry for not knowing sooner.”

Harry must’ve been closer to the wall than Louis initially gauged, because he shifts to get comfortable and suddenly his leg is pressed tightly against Louis’. 

“You did know. I wasn’t exactly _subtle_ ‒ ”

“I meant _me_. I’m sorry for not knowing that I loved you sooner. I would’ve told you everyday.” He’s being painfully honest, more honest than he’s been with anyone ever. “You wouldn’t have felt so brushed off and unimportant.  We’re all we’ve got and I made you feel like you didn’t mean anything to me when in reality you’re honestly the only thing that matters to me so… I’m sorry.”

The darkness is eating up their truths, keeping them safe just like Louis’ always known it to.

Harry’s nose is suddenly pressed against his cheek. The close proximity isn’t new but it’s become unfamiliar, like learning to write again after not holding a pen for so long. It makes Louis’ face flush in a terribly different way than before as he turns his face towards Harry’s.

“Can I kiss you now?” Louis whispers. “No surprises? It's all out in the open now. And it’s ‒ it’s completely up to you.”

Harry hums thoughtfully for a long moment before quickly answering, “Nope!” He turns over, back to Louis. “Time to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“What?! No it isn't!”

“Don't get squeaky and indignant, just go to sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow.”

Louis sighs. “Bitch.” 

-

Somehow, Harry slips away the next morning. The next thing Louis knows, he's running late to the yoga class and the typing bubble has popped up in his conversation with Zayn. He's about to get told off. Louis panics, opens the camera and sends a blurry photo as fast as he can while simultaneously trying to get his legs into his shorts. He then realises that he's commando, and has to trip over his feet all over again, lest he flash the entire room. 

By the time Louis arrives, the class is beginning and everyone turns to look at him just in time to catch him stumbling into the large, padded room. By some twist of fate, Harry’s obnoxious mug is one of the ten staring at Louis’ unfortunate mishap.

“Alright, nothin’ to see here.”

He's long since developed his reputation for being late, he doesn't know why everyone still looks so surprised.

Louis takes his place between Harry and Jade, the short and flexible hacker extraordinaire. She'd been the only hacker that Zayn was able to recruit on his own until he'd found Niall and his gang per Louis’ suggestion. Jade had taken to the little Irish lad immediately, and Louis has been endlessly smug about himself since. Jade is flippant about liking him, having only mentioned it to Louis in passing, but Niall is a bumbling mess of nerves around her and never shuts up about it to Louis. (After he’d moved past cursing Louis out about the fact that he _didn’t_ want to get involved.)

Louis spots Liam in the room as well, up in the front, nearly on top of the instructor. They all seem to be finding love here, because Louis hasn't seem Liam so active about yoga since last week when Harry was on an absolute health kick and needed a workout partner. Liam gave up, of course, because he’d found Harry’s regimen too gruelling, but now Liam’s practically got cartoon hearts coming out of his eyes all the while he does jumping jacks.

“Alright, Curly?” 

Harry pretends to not have noticed Louis’ presence. Louis half expects him to ignore him like he has been since he's gotten so used to it. But when Harry looks at him again, he flashes the brightest smile, like he's genuinely happy to see him for the first time in what feels like forever. 

“Hey, Lou.”

It's refreshing, and Louis’ chest suddenly feels too tight. In a good way. He's got his best friend back, at the very least.

The class goes spectacularly; Louis’ muscles are pleasantly warm and loose, and he's ready for action. Albeit, he's not really due for any action today besides a quick scaling drill to test equipment, but he feels invincible. 

“I feel _invincible_. Aren't you listening?”

Liam is useless when it comes to listening to Louis ramble on about his trials and tribulations. He’s always miles away, only tuning in to tell Louis to stop complaining, even if he wasn’t in the first place. 

“Not even a little bit.”

_Useless._

They have a meeting today, an important one. It may or may not have something to do with a scale model of Málvoleur’s mansion. Louis hopes it is, and hopes that he’s able to burn it once this is all over. 

The room is packed with more people than the last few times, so much so that Louis doesn’t even get a seat because of how late he decides to show up.

“Decided to finally grace us with your presence?” Nick mumbles into his ear.

Louis doesn’t even bother replying, simply sidles further into the room, finds Harry and promptly deposits himself into the taller boy’s lap. It’s grossly territorial, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind as he wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. He feels a smug look cross his face but doesn’t care enough to see Nick’s reaction. Zayn’s taken his place at the far end of the long table, now, and he does indeed have a scale model of the mansion, pale white but fixed with extraneous detail.

“We’re coming close to the actual date now, and Monsieur Málvoleur is leaving for his weekly trip to Spain in just a few days. That gives us exactly one week to work out which exits we need to get Louis in and out of before he returns on the night of the twenty-fifth.”

The corkboards are nearly full now, information spanning the walls from top to bottom and almost circling around the room. The one just behind Zayn’s head has red string connected by pushpins on a two-dimensional diagram of the property. It’s large and intimidating and Louis has sat in this room staring at the photos an embarrassing number of times. He reasons that he should memorise it, though, because he has to know what he’s getting himself into. 

“So we’ve really got to buckle up, packing the van and whatnot. Jade, you’ll be leading the team of course, and Liam will be your driver. Everyone has to pitch in in the packing, we needs everyone’s expertise on this and can’t afford a single mishap. I need Nick to do a final run through of all surveillance equipment once Niall and Ed have got it all set up. Then,” Zayn pointedly looks around the room, eyes stopping on Louis on Harry’s lap for barely a second, “And this is impertinent, Louis and Harry will be a given a full briefing on who is doing what exactly. Mack has got to get them both fitted with ear pieces and… I think that’ll be all. I just need the two of you,” he points at Harry and Louis, “The rest of you get some sleep and we’ll start first thing in the morning. Thanks, everyone.”

The two of them hang back, Louis taking his own chair after the one beside them has vacated. They wait patiently for Zayn to shut the door, and for some reason, Louis is buzzing with anxiety. He realises then that he’s really fucking scared.

“You alright, Lou?”

Louis nods, not looking at Harry. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Don’t freak out on me now, mate,” Zayn chides. “One week, we’ve got it all worked out, don’t worry. Look,” he pulls out a retractable pointer, one that Louis didn’t think existed outside out movies, “He’s got real high security in only a few places. It’s real cliche and should honestly be a breeze for you. You’re the perfect person to do this.”

And that really warms Louis’ heart. Really, it does. Promise.

Harry grabs his hand under the table, and any remaining nerves he’s gathered over the course of the meeting dissipated then and there.

Zayn runs through the exact course that Louis needs to take from the parked van to the room that holds Málvoleur’s safe. They’d all agreed that any sane person immediately checks their safe upon arriving home. Louis’ job is fairly easy, placing security disabling… pods of sorts on points of access. The technology that Harry and Nick have managed to develop will disable any home monitoring systems, and with Niall and Jade’s hacking skills combined, they can shut down almost every alarm. They’re almost certain that Málvoleur doesn’t have any pets, but if he does, Louis will be equipped with a small tranquiliser gun, nothing too harmful. Another important discovery they’ve made is that Málvoleur has a daughter, and she hardly ever leaves the house. The most they’ve seen of her on their spy cameras have been her daily trips to the garden. It’s lead them to believe that she’s disabled somehow, and all Louis has to do is either evade her or talk her out of calling her father. That makes Louis nearly rip Harry’s fingers off.

“Lastly, once you’ve finished, you’re to take the _exact same path_ out as you did to get in. No dawdling, no stealing, no shortcuts. You retrace your exact footsteps out, take all of the pods that you left and _leave._ If you do a single thing differently, you could fuck this all up. Understand?”

Louis nods, completely serious. He’s surprised at himself that his attention span has even lasted this long. 

Zayn turns off his boss voice and looks at Louis with all the intention of a comforting friend.

“It’s going to be alright, Louis. I promise.”

He promises. Zayn’s always kept his promises to Louis. So Louis nods once more, Harry’s hand still firmly grasped in his. 

“I trust you.”

And he has to.


	3. The End

With five days to go, they can’t afford any distractions. A single mishap, a single miscalculation of any sort could result in Louis’ immediate discovery, capture, or death. Louis trusts each and every single one of these thieves. As manipulative as they may be, they never let one of their own go down. One down means there’s trouble for all of them, because no matter how deeply they promise not to snitch, thieves are always first and foremost looking out for themselves.

That’s why it’s fitting, that with _five days to go_ , comes along the greatest distraction of them all.

“Harry, Louis!” There’s a knock on their bedroom door just as they’re about to turn in for the night. It’s Patrick, the self-appointed postman of the house. “Was finally able to get around to picking up your mail from your place. It’s quite a bit,” he hands them a stack of envelopes that backs up his statement, “But I hope it does doesn’t put you back too much.”

“Not a problem. We weren't expecting much more than bills anyway.” 

Louis closes the door in his face, quite rudely if he does say so himself. But he's been waiting forever to finally talk to Harry about _them._ He wants to know– needs to know– where they stand. Now that he's got his feelings for Harry catalogued and labeled properly, he'd really like to do something about it. 

“That was rude,” Harry comments offhandedly as he rifles through their three weeks worth of post. 

“But _Harryyyyyy._ ” He's pulling out all the stops: pouting, slumping. He's desperate. “We were finally gonna _talk_.”

He watches as Harry's eyes catch on one of the envelopes, finally stopping his halfhearted pursuing. Louis grabs his hands, starts pulling him backwards towards the bed. 

“No, no. C’mon. The post can wait! Please, H, just–”

“God, shut _up_!”

Louis releases him and steps back in shock. Why is Harry shouting at him? About the _post_ of all things?

“Wh–”

“It's from Gemma. It can't wait. The _conversation_ can wait.”

So he opens it, still not bothering to look at Louis. Louis can see from here that it's long, and with every line that Harry reads the pain in his eyes grows that much more. Something terrible has happened. Harry looks about five seconds away from crying and Louis doesn't know what to do. 

As soon as it looks like he's finished Louis asks, “Harry, what's wrong?”

Harry doesn't answer. Well, he does, but not in words. The absolutely broken sob that comes tumbling out of his mouth is obviously involuntary, and answer enough. Louis steps close enough at just the right time, because within half a second he has an armful of Harry and a mouth full of hair.

Louis manages to back them both up and onto the bed. He still doesn't know what he can possibly say, so he just sits there silent as Harry cries. The anxiety in Louis’ stomach grows by the second, with each hitch of Harry's breath. He's terrified of what Harry's going to say, and he only thinks the worse. 

“M-Mum,” he can barely breathe, so Louis doesn't know why he's trying to speak. 

“Harry, hush, you've got to calm down. You don't have to tell me just yet. Just catch your breath, alright?”

Harry nods into his stomach, where he's slipped down and is just desperately grasping the thin material that encompasses Louis’ waist. It's too intimate for friends, too intimate for the conversation they haven't had yet. But Louis will be damned if he's not there for Harry in any way that he needs him. 

Harry falls asleep eventually, every inhale still a hiccup, his head resting on Louis’ lap. It's the gentlest of comfort, for Louis to lightly scratch at Harry's head. He considers reading the letter himself, saving Harry the obvious pain of telling him. But it's an invasion of whatever privacy they have left between the two of them; Louis feels stupid for even contemplating it. 

Louis uses what strength he's acquired since they arrived here to heave Harry onto the bed fully, and wraps himself around Harry's front without much thought. 

“It's gonna be okay,” he whispers to a sleeping Harry. It's a Harry he hates to see; one with a pained face and an irregular heartbeat. It thumps through both their shirts and startles Louis’ own. "Whatever it is we're gonna get through it. Together. I promise I'll be here. _Mon petit soldat._ ”

The nickname feels strange rolling off his tongue, rusty in a way. 

He keeps on like that, whispering to himself and hoping that his words find Harry in his sleep. He only stops because he hears Harry's breathing fall off pattern.

“Mum’s dead,” he says, flat and broken. “She was really sick and now she's dead and I'm never gonna see her again.”

But even as Harry says it, it doesn't sound real. In Louis’ mind, death has always been this abstract concept that he jokes about, thinks about, has prayed for on occasion. He's feared dying, heard about other people's deaths. People in Louis’ family have passed, sure, but the thought of someone just ceasing to exist has never been something he was fully able to grasp. It's been years since his nan died and in his head it still feels as though she's just gone on a very long trip to the shops. 

“What?” So Harry has to be lying. It's got to be a lie. “No, Harry, that's not… _When_?”

Harry shoves his face further into Louis’ neck. “Just yes–” His voice breaks, and he's crying again. “ _Yesterday_.”

And it's terrible. It's terrible news made worse by the fact that Harry had _meant_ to reach out. He'd meant to reconnect with his mum and sister. Harry never meant for things to be like this. It raises the question of how Gemma got their address at all, but Louis can't bring that up now, not when Harry's holding onto him for dear life because his mother is dead and Louis is all he has right now. 

“I'm so sorry, Harry.” He means it. Anne was just as much a mum to him as she was for Harry. He can't imagine a world where he can't go home to her. “God, if only I'd _known_ , H. We could've gone home. I'm so sorry.”

“But you didn't.” 

Harry's tone implies that it's his fault, or that it's a shitty thing for him to do to not know. But how could he have?

“I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. You know I loved her, too.”

The anger seeps out of Harry slowly, and he deflates into the sheets. Louis knows he doesn't mean it. He's grieving now. 

“I know.”

“Just. You've gotta call Gem and tell her to hold off the funeral ‘til… Afterwards, y’know. You should be there. We should both be there.”

“No. I'm gonna fuck it all up now. God, how am I supposed to _focus_ like this? I'm gonna get you killed, Lou, I might as well just go now. They can find someone else, I'm not that important. Nick can–”

“Stop it.” Louis’ eyes well up more at how little Harry thinks of himself. It’s probably his fault. “You're the most important person here. Without you, none of this would even be happening–”

“ _Exactly._ ”

“That's not what I _meant_ , Harry. Just listen for a second, okay?” He sighs softly. “I'm not letting you go back alone, you're the strongest person I know, and I know you can do this. I need you here and you need me there. I won't let you go by yourself.”

Harry relents, unable to come up with a valid argument. They fall asleep like that, hearts heavy and weighing on each other, but they'll get through it. They always do. 

-

There’s four days left until the heist, and tension is as high as Louis’ ever felt it. 

Harry’s eyes haven’t been dry since he read the letter, the swell of his face almost something of permanence. He’s being coddled by everyone and pitied from every which way. Louis almost wishes he hadn’t told them, just so he’d be the only one that could tell Harry what he needed to hear. It’s selfish, probably, but Harry’s still all Louis has. Somewhere deep down, he wants it to be the same the other way around.

“You alright?”

Perrie has materialised out of thin air and is suddenly standing beside Louis. Zayn’s stopped sitting in on his climbs since he accomplished the record time he needed for the mission, and so Perrie, the climbing supervisor, has been the only one around here lately. Louis’ the only one with climbing as a specialty.

“Fine, thanks.”

She shrugs, blonde hair falling further over her shoulders. “Was just asking ‘cos you’ve got your harness on backwards again.”

_Again_. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Well,” he steps out of it begrudgingly, “You’ve heard about Harry’s mum, I’m sure.”

Her eyes immediately fill with empathy. “Yeah, poor thing. How’s he holding up?”

“Wouldn’t know. He’s hardly spoken to me since he found out.”

“You should ask Zayn,” she offers. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together these last few weeks. He might know something to help you get him to talk.”

The first thing that goes through Louis’ head is _what the fuck?_ It’s the first thing to come out of his mouth as well.

“Did you not know that?”

He scoffs, turning cold. He knows it’s not Perrie’s fault, but he’s suddenly very angry. It’s borderline jealousy, but he wouldn’t admit that.

“That would be an understatement.”

Suffice to say that Louis’ climb goes spectacularly awful. With four days to go, he really can’t afford this.

He seeks Zayn out after dinner, asking around for a solid twenty minutes until he finds both him and Harry holed up in Zayn and Nick’s shared bedroom. It _really_ is a sight for sore eyes. 

Louis doesn’t really know what else to do besides laugh… And leave.

He can picture their reactions almost perfectly. They'll look at each other, silently wondering who should go after him. Or… maybe they don’t care. It’s wishful thinking on Louis’ part to hope that his irrational jealousy matters to either of them. He feels his heart twist up at the thought of Harry not caring about him, or even of Harry not being able to trust him or find comfort in him. He may be jealous, wanting to keep Harry to himself, to be the one that holds him in times like this, but. But that’s not what this is even about–

“Lou!”

Of course it’d be Zayn. Of course.

Louis keeps walking.

“Christ, Louis.” He’s closer now. “ _Wait_.”

But Zayn has trained Louis for an exact situation such as this. He gauges the distance of Zayn’s footsteps until he can feel the nervous energy he’s letting off right behind him. He spins around and pins Zayn against the corridor wall. There’s far too much tension between them that’s never been there before. Louis doesn’t like the way it feels one bit.

Arm pressing more firmly against Zayn’s throat, Louis growls, “Stay the _fuck_ away from me.”

And maybe it’s not that serious, but Louis has always had a flare for dramatics.

“Let me explain–”

“Just leave me alone, alright? You’ve got Harry, he trusts you more than he trusts me, apparently. Or he hates me or something because I’ve gone and fucked our friendship– But, whatever. Just don’t try to spew some bullshit to me, I can tell when I'm not wanted. You, of all people, should know that.”

Louis turns and walks away, jaw clenched and praying that Zayn doesn’t pursue him.

No such luck, though, because Louis’ life _really_ has become some shitty action film.

Zayn grabs his hand, a gesture too soft for Louis to brush off. “Please, Louis. Just… hear me out? Or not even me. Just hear what Harry has to say. He’s been really torn up about this and–” He seems to be lost for words, and it makes Louis’ stomach fall. “I- I really care about him, Lou. I know you do, too.”

“I fucking _love_ him, you arsehole. That’s _different_.”

And then Zayn _blushes_.

Louis doesn’t even want to know what that means, so he scoffs. It’s a day full of him scoffing, apparently, but he genuinely can’t deal with this right now. He’s got more important things to think about than what may or may not be going on with Zayn and Harry. 

“I’m going to bed,” he declares, taking his hand back. “Don’t fucking follow me.” He’s halfway down the corridor before he remembers, “Oh, and maybe Harry can stay the night with you and that bloody Grimshaw since you _care_ so much.”

-

_Three. Three. Three days to go._

Louis’ hunched over, sat on his bed with his head in his hands, elbows digging into his knees. He wants to beat himself up over this, he really does, but he’s just so _angry_. All of his anger is directed at Harry. Harry got them into this mess, Harry can’t do anything right, Harry can’t even talk to him about his dead mother. Harry _,_ Harry _, Harry_.

He wants this to be Harry’s fault more than anything.

Louis is the one that let Harry start pickpocketing. Louis is the one that brought the diamond to Niall. Louis is the one that agreed to giving the diamond back. Louis is the one that sought out Zayn. Louis is the one that kissed Harry and made Harry hate himself and made Harry not want to trust him.

Really, it’s a no-brainer.

So he keeps beating his fists against his forehead, watching the digital clock between his feet. There’s probably a bruise forming on his face, and he’s forty minutes behind on his schedule for the day. He has to meet up with Zayn and Harry tomorrow. He has to meet up with Nick the day after that. 

He has to break into a multimillion dollar estate the day after that.

It’s too much. _It’s really all too much_.

Perrie and Jade find him like that, all but tearing his own hair out. They try to get him to talk, but he's started crying somehow. His mind and body are overwhelmed in the worst of ways and all he can do is try not to completely lose it in front of two people he barely knows. 

Jade shuts the door quietly, and they both rush to him, enclosing him in a sweet smelling sandwich of comfort. Their perfume, it reminds him of his mother; how much he misses her, how he's never going to see her again. His breathing is shallow and he's crying on their shoulders, holding the two girls close and wondering just how grown up his sisters are by now. 

“Lou, everyone's worried, you're never this late.”

But he doesn't care. He knows that the two people that he wants to worry probably aren't worried at all. 

“Zayn sent us to look for you. He looked really upset, did something happen?”

Louis knows they mean well, and that they're probably not lying. But in his broken heart, he can't bring himself to believe it. 

“T-Tell Zayn to f-fuck off.”

There's a knock on the door that startles them all. About half a second passes before Nick is letting himself in, sitting himself on Harry's bed and fixing Louis with a gaze that makes him want to take a flying leap off the top of Montmartre. 

Louis probably looks like a small, broken mess but that doesn't stop him from trying to make himself look bigger, puffing out his chest and putting on a brave face. (Harry often likens him to a frilled dragon. Louis calls them umbrella lizards.) Nick doesn't react, just stays put with the same expression. 

“Could you girls give me and Louis a moment, please? Tell Zayn we'll be right there?”

Jade and Perrie shuffle out quickly, leaving Louis with soft reassurances and staccato hugs. Louis really doesn't care for Nick’s act, or whatever garbage he has to say about how this is his own fault. He knows that, and he wishes the girls would stay. 

“He never meant to hurt you, you know.”

Louis stubbornly wipes at his face and tries to keep his voice as normal as possible. “You really don't know what you're talking about, so if you'd please just leave –”

“No.” Suddenly, Nick is beside him. He doesn't like it. “You and Harry are both being stupid. He doesn't hate you, but he won't talk to you about what's really going on and it's honestly exhausting to witness.”

“What are you on about?”

“Let Harry explain.”

“I just wanted to have a good cry and you're in here bombarding me with advice I don't want.” His voice is starting to break again, his pride crumbling under the pressure of it. “You're ruining my simple life.”

“Christ–” Nick pulls Louis into his side, his oversized, grey sweater curling around Louis’ shoulders like a blanket. Louis doesn't have it in him to fight it, his body inadvertently grateful for any and all human contact after being starved of it. “I know you think everything's your fault, Louis. But that's only because of your _massive_ ego. So just talk to Harry, sort this out, and you two can resume your symbiotic relationship as wholly as before you even came here. He's torn up about his mum and not thinking right. I'll set him straight and it'll all be fine, alright? I know you hate me, but when big and bad Louis Tomlinson is such a mess like this, it puts the world off its axis. I just wanna help.”

Louis takes every word to heart, still unsure of how sincere they are. He's been horrible to Nick since the moment they met, and Nick has been just as cold right back. Louis was just jealous, and Nick seems to realise that, silently accepting Louis’ unsaid apology. He should apologise, though, just to let Nick know he means it. He could really use a friend, something he hasn't ever really had. He's too close to Zayn and Harry to put them on the same level of platonic friendship, not with the history between them. 

“I'm sorry for being an arse to you.”

Nick rubs his arm firmly, warming him up where he didn't even realise he was cold. “It's alright, you meant well.”

“I really didn't.”

“I know.”

They stay like that, Nick holding Louis close in a way that Louis has missed terribly. He misses Harry, so much. And he misses Zayn. He doesn't want to lose either of them. He sees that now. 

Louis’ stomach rumbles loudly. 

“Perhaps I should've come to breakfast instead of having a nervous breakdown.”

Nick lets him go, his eyes finally dry, and the cold hits him all at once. “I can bring you something back if you don't wanna like, see them yet.”

“Would you?” Louis puts on a hopeful expression, fully knowing that Nick definitely will. He's enjoying this new friendship. “Unless your noodle arms can't hold all the food we both know I need.”

“I'm sure I can manage.”

-

Louis has never known Harry to be shy. Sure, he's secretive about his secrets, private about his private life. But Harry's never been one to be afraid of talking to anyone about anything, much less Louis. A fidgety Harry isn't something Louis knows how to react to. So he's just sitting here, nails digging into his thighs under the table, and sweating. Harry’s rubbing at his lips, a nervous habit, but in the process he’s also rubbing the lilac coloured lipstick he’s wearing all over his fingers. Either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care, but it’s driving Louis irrationally mad.

“Are you going to say anything?”

Harry looks up, eyes a little manic. He looks to Zayn for guidance, something he used to have Louis for. His grip on his leg goes tighter. 

“I guess not.” 

He gets up to leave, knowing all too well that he's being petty, acting like a child. Nick knows it too, which is why he drags him back into his seat by his elbow. 

“Lou, c’mon. Give him a minute.”

“We've been sitting here for twenty–”

“I'm sorry.” They're all startled by the sudden sound of Harry's voice. “I'm sorry for all of this, it's all my fault.”

“This isn't–” Louis tries.

Nick shushes him. 

“I was mad at you, Louis. I was mad at you so I had no one to talk to and Zayn was just there, alright? He was there for me when I didn't want you to be. I sent a letter home without telling you and I was in touch with Gemma and Mum and I knew she was sick and I _didn't tell you_. That's on me, and I'm sorry.”

The truth hits Louis like a bucket of ice water. Harry contacted his family, kept in touch with them, had knowledge of a serious situation and thought it would be better to not inform Louis about it. He gets that he fucked up, he really does, but this goes beyond whatever dynamic shift they had. Anne and Gemma are nearly as much Louis’ family as they are Harry's and he didn't deserve to be kept in the dark about something so serious. He really wants to punch Harry in the face. 

Louis stays silent, though, just glaring _daggers_ at Harry and Zayn alternatively. Nick’s presence is the slightest bit grounding beside him, but he's glad for the knowledge that if he were to lunge across the table, Nick would hold him back. 

“And the reason I've been holding off our conversation is because…” Louis doesn't think it can get much worse, but with the way Harry seems to be struggling to keep from looking over at Zayn, he thinks it might. “Well. The two of us have gotten pretty close, sort of but–”

“Let me tell him–”

“No! No, it's gotta be me.”

Louis keeps his mouth firmly shut. 

“Nothing's going on with us, Lou. We kissed…once, by accident. But like– No, Louis wait!”

The only thing keeping Louis from closing the gap between him and the door is Nick’s hand on the back of his sweatshirt. He doesn't appreciate it. He deserves his dramatic exit. 

“Louis, I love you.”

For Harry's first time saying it, it sure does sound like a _lie_. 

“Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that.”

“Lou–”

Louis sits back down in his chair with more force than necessary.

“ _No_. You don't get to do that. You can't just say you love me and act like I didn't spend weeks hating myself because I was afraid you didn't even _trust_ me. But it's real great that you found someone that's been too busy with you to care about me as well. I'm really happy for both of you.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and no matter how hard he tries to play it off, they've all noticed. 

“It's not like that.”

Louis rolls his eyes and keeps them fixed on the blank wall beside the table. The paint is peeling. Brilliant. 

“We both care about you, Lou. Far too much for either of us to give you up the way it must've seemed like we had.” Louis can tell that Harry's chosen these words carefully, rehearsed them. “We really want to work this out with you.”

The notion is far too crazy. The _suggestion_ is too far fetched that Louis hopes his imagination is simply running wild with Harry's words. He can't be meaning what Louis thinks. It'll never work. 

Harry keeps talking, though, and Louis looks over long enough to see Zayn sneak his hand into Harry's under the table. 

“Zayn said that– No, I can't do this. You have to tell him. I'm not gonna be your mouthpiece.”

Louis knows that the only reason Zayn wants Harry to do it is because he gets nervous about the truth. Once he says it, it's real, and that makes Zayn's fingers tremble uncontrollably. He was the same way when he came out to Louis all those years ago. 

“I can't–”

“You _have to_.”

Louis stops his petulant wall-staring in favor of making Zayn more uncomfortable with whatever it is he has to say. Eye contact is the key. 

“I know–” He takes a deep breath that doesn't seem to help much. “I know how much you loved me, and I'm sorry that I ran away and never got the chance to tell you I felt the same way. You probably moved on by now, seeing as how much you love Harry, but it's just been lingering there for me, in the back of my head. It doesn't have to mean anything, but I just thought you should know that.”

Louis thinks back to all of the times he whispered his secret into Zayn's hair, into the soft fabric of his t-shirts. He never thought Zayn could hear him, and he thought it'd never be returned. But Louis went above and beyond to show him, wordless. Louis never let Zayn go a moment in his presence without trying his damndest him know he was loved by someone. He never thought Zayn would actually _know._ Every too tight hug and every late night confession. It didn't mean anything until now.

“I can't have you both,” Louis whispers. 

Harry answers for him, “That's what we're trying to tell you, Lou. You _can_ have us both. If you wanted.”

“I'm sorry,” he says. His mind is racing but he hasn't loved Zayn like that in a _very_ long time. He doesn't think they'd work anymore. They may be the same on the outside, have grown into the same shape, but their make-up is different. They're opposites on the inside. It wouldn't work. “It's not the same with us, Zayn. It wouldn't be like how it was.”

“That's okay.” The despondent tone of Zayn’s voice makes him want to force himself to want it. But he doesn't, not anymore. He can't lie to them both. “Really, it is, you can't force yourself to feel something that isn't there.

“And Louis doesn't share, he continues. It's true. “So that's the answer for us, Harry. It was a one-off, yeah? We talked about it. Didn't mean anything.”

The words are hollow. They're both disappointed in his choice, his truth. But he refuses to feel bad about it. He's done enough of that. 

Louis turns to Nick. “So that's everything sorted, then? Back to work.”

-

Two. Two days left until Louis risks his life to save both his and Harry's. 

“Lou, you alright?”

He knows Harry can feel the hammering of Louis’ heart against his back. Louis chose this position mostly because he doesn't want Harry to see the obvious fear that's been written across his face all night, all morning. It's clearly been in vain. 

So, he decides to be honest, for once. “No.”

Harry flops around gracelessly, like a fish out of water, until he’s nose to nose with Louis. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

They pushed Louis and Harry’s twin beds together, forcing their hips into the uncomfortable gap in the middle. It was Harry’s idea, to create the space. He's still a bit confused, there's still a conversation to be had about them and where they stand. But Harry just seems so at peace with finally getting what he's wanted so desperately for years. 

“Not particularly.”

“Talk to me,” Harry whispers against his lips. 

“I don’t wanna mess this up. I've already put both of us in enough danger and I don't need you losing someone else–”

“Stop that. Stop _blaming_ yourself for everything that goes wrong in our lives. Sometimes things are your fault, sometimes things are mine, sometimes it's neither of us. Sometimes it's just _life_. You've got to know that, Lou. It's not right for you to be carrying around so much guilt especially for shit you haven't done.” Harry's voice is soothing in its own right, but when it's close like this, comforting and soft and all of its kindness directed at Louis… It's heaven. He's missed this. “It's going to be alright. You've prepared for this more than well enough, we all have. We're gonna be fine, I promise.”

Louis can't help but think that this should be the other way around. Harry's _mother_ just died for fuck’s sakes, Louis should be comforting _him_. 

“Stop thinking so much. Try to get some sleep.” 

With that, Harry presses his lips to Louis’, soft and sweet like a secret. He's gone as quickly as he came, turning over and pulling Louis’ arm around his waist. 

It tears Louis apart. 

-

Louis wakes up with what can only be described as an absolute mess of a knot in his stomach. The stuff of mediocre boy scouts. He thinks he may vomit, suddenly feeling all too claustrophobic with Harry’s arms encapsulating him. But he doesn't want to move. 

His stomach as other ideas. 

“Harry.” He doesn't mean for his voice to come out as panicked as it does. “Harry, I've got to get up.”

“Wha–” He's barely got his eyes open. “Wha’s wrong?”

“I've got to get _up_.” He's halfway climbing over Harry in his rushed effort to get to the toilets before something drastic happens. “ _Please_.”

Harry moves, quickly at that, and practically pulls Louis out of the bed with him. Once Louis is free from the confines of the duvet, and the cold air hits him, he's making his way out of the room and down the hall. He can feel Harry following close behind. Louis is making a mess of things already. He can't do it. He's going to blow it. 

“Lou–?”

The toilet is occupied when he gets there, and he can feel his lungs shrivel up in his chest. Or maybe he's imagining it. Either way, he can't seem to get enough air and soon enough he's hunched over in the middle of the corridor gasping for breath. It feels like ages before Harry gets to him, but the moment his arms wrap around Louis, he pushes them away. 

“Leave him.” Zayn's gruff morning voice is the last thing he expected. He's out of his head now, though, submitted to being a spectator of the scene unfolding. “You'll make it worse if you try to wrap him up. Louis?”

Louis slides down to the floor, shaking his head and wishing to be anywhere else. 

Zayn crouches beside him, places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You've got to take a deep breath in. You're fine. Whatever you're thinking isn't true, I promise you. Just breath in and out, alright, can you do that?”

Louis knows he should, and he wants to, but he _can't._ It's like he's forgotten how. 

“C-can't. I can't. I–” He shuts his eyes tight. “Pl-Please.”

“Here, lie down.” Zayn and Harry maneuver him so that he's on his side, his head in Zayn's lap. He's vaguely aware of Harry holding his hand firmly, the other in his hair. “Relax, think about something else. Don't think about tomorrow, don't think about yesterday, don't even think about last week.” His lungs still feel too small. “Think about late night footie and your morning tea, you love that, yeah? Remember when I tried to make your tea that time when we were kids? And I made it all wrong so you threw it at me?”

“Did he really?”

“He was an aggressive kid.”

“What about that time you tried to cook dinner for my birthday and burnt off your eyelashes?” Harry supplies. “That was a laugh. But that night was nice because we made a cake to make up for it. With fake eyelashes.”

Zayn adds on, “Pillow forts and burnt out stars and a world where we're both royalty.”

Louis can see it so clearly, every moment. Those times when everything seemed hopeless but was quickly amended by the presence of someone he loves. Those are his fondest memories, and the fact that they're Zayn’s and Harry’s as well… It's everything. It startles him a bit, to the point where he gasps in a breath that sets his breathing back to something that resembles normalcy. 

“It's gonna be fine, Lou.”

Louis nods, clutching Zayn’s skinny leg like his life depends on it. 

“Can we go back to bed?” he asks quietly, throat protesting against even the fewest of words. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Let's go.”

-

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of logistics and coddling and tea. Harry and Zayn don't leave Louis alone for more than moment, obviously shaken by this morning’s incident. Louis hasn't had an anxiety attack like that in a long time, long enough that Harry didn't even know about them until today. 

“You've got your gear properly fitted, right?” Harry won't stop harassing him about his suit and harness being too tight because of his insecurities and habit of lying. “If you slip out of that thing or if it crushes your dick–”

“ _Harry_. Calm down about it, alright? It's fitted ‘properly.’ Jesy did the measurements right in front of you; you already knew that.”

“Oh.” Apparently, he'd forgotten. “Right, well, good.”

Zayn returns then with yet _another_ cup of tea. Louis is going to drown in his own bed. His blood is going to turn into tea. Something equally impossible is definitely going to happen.

“You tryin’ to kill me with kindness, Malik? Never seen you bring me this much stuff since you pushed me off the garage and broke me leg.”

Zayn looks about three seconds from dumping the tea over his head. 

“I'm not even going to justify that with a response.”

Louis just winks. 

They look at the floor plan together until Zayn is too tired from his early rising and falls asleep on Louis’ shoulder mid-sentence. Harry follows shortly after and Louis is seriously concerned about having damp shoulders. He manages to fold up the map enough to toss it harmlessly to the floor. 

He's still nervous, afraid even, but all of the facts run through his head. Zayn has pulled off missions like this before, so he knows what he's doing. And he trusts that Zayn wouldn’t set him up for any reason. And Harry’s been trained by Nick, the best hacker and tech wizard in the city. He’s knows that he’s ready deep down and has a clear picture of everything going well. Tomorrow morning they’ll do a final walkthrough and _everything will be fine._

-

The morning of already seems hopeful when Louis wakes up sans crippling anxiety. They gather in the meeting room for one last time, everyone staring at Louis until he’s silently forced to thank everyone for helping him and Harry even get this far. Zayn wordlessly approves of his little impromptu speech and he goes on with reminding everyone of where they need to be and when. The official countdown reads at three hours and thirteen minutes and Louis’ insides are surprisingly all in tact.

That is, until they’re loaded up into the van, surrounded by equipment and each other. Somewhere in between where the city melts into the countryside, Louis starts to sweat.

Nick senses it first.

“Louis, you’re sweating.”

That tips off the rest of them because the A.C is on full blast to keep the computers from messing up. No one should be sweating. 

“Because I’m wearing a _coat_.”

“It’s _winter._ ”

Harry removes his headset and sits beside Louis on the floor. He’s sort of glad that he doesn’t have to say anything to get the comfort he’s looking for, but also sort of resents the fact that Nick was the first one to notice. Harry doesn’t ask him anything, just offers his open arms and lets Louis fall into him. Louis shivers, because it really is cold no matter how much he’s sweating.

“You’ve tested those ear pieces, right? I didn’t get the inside of my head molded for some faulty piece of equipment?”

That makes them all laugh. 

Harry pulls out a box from his coat pocket. “I was gonna wait ‘til we got there but…” He opens the box to reveal two small in-ears, like the one’s musicians wear on stage. They’re decorated with a key on each one, and Louis doesn’t understand. “Got the tech team to customise them, like they do for celebrities.” 

It makes sense when Harry turns his head and points to his own in his small ear (which is still weird to see since Louis’ had gotten so used to both of them being covered by a massive amount of curls). It’s a lock. He gave Louis the key to his lock.

In all honesty, it’s the stupidest thing Louis has ever seen. But it’s also the sweetest. And he may be crying a little bit.

“You did that for me?”

Harry nods enthusiastically, grinning like a maniac. His smile warps the maroon colour that stains his lips, but Louis is endeared all the same. Then he remembers. 

“I love you.”

Harry laughs. “I love you, too.”

“Yes, it's all very sweet,” Nick says with the tone of a tour guide, “But we've arrived at our destination and the clock is ticking.”

_One hour and three minutes_. 

Louis’ fine. He can do this. 

(And, okay, maybe his gear is a _little_ tight on him.)

Despite the mild discomfort, Louis couldn't deny that he looked good. He saw it in the way everyone was staring at him with a vague sense of bewilderment. They've only ever seen him in baggy sweatpants and oversized t-shirts, so it appears that anything that actually reveals the curvature of his body is a foreign concept. 

“Take a photo, why don't you?”

The sound of a camera shutter goes off behind him.

“Oi!” He spins around to find the culprit.

“You gave your permission!” Harry shouts defensively, hands raised.

“Don't you have some typing to do?”

And things move on from there. 

The van is positioned at the north gate, the one that's been noted to have only one camera. Louis spots it straight away from the window, hidden (if you can even say that) in a very inconspicuous looking plant hanging from the horizontal metal bar. 

“Get a load of this guy,” Louis says to no one in particular. 

“We've gone over these cameras a million times, Louis, you knew it was there. Please get ready we've got ten minutes until we can shut down the system and you've got to get those pods positioned.”

Suddenly, the weight of the situation is very, very real. Louis’ breath catches for a second and he catches Harry's eye. 

“You can do this.”

Louis ducks out of the van with confidence, the door sliding shut behind him. Zayn's voice is in his ear, suddenly, startling him. 

“You can walk right up to the gate, but stay to the right of the camera.” Louis starts walking. “ _Your_ right!”

“Oh.”

“It's motion activated, so as long as you don't move too suddenly and stay out of its line of vision you should be able to get over the fence undetected. Place the first pod just at the base of the wall on the other side. Got it?”

“Copy that,” Louis mutters. 

“ _Got it?”_

“Got it! Christ.”

He retrieves the retractable hook from its holster in his belt. The camera comes to life the moment he jerks his arm to sling the hook over the wall. Louis dives into the bushes, heart already racing. 

“Easy, Lou.” It's Harry now, chiming in. He must be watching the cameras. “Just wait for it to turn off again.” 

His feet feel unsteady on the stone wall. He's done this a million times, trained himself on every wall. His shoes were specifically designed for traction, for scaling a wall, for being quiet and comfortable. It's to his advantage, but he's still terrified he's going to slip. His arms are aching once he gets half way up, every step painstaking. He's nearly there, gauging every indent in the old wall that's all but crumbling under his feet. Who does this guy think he is?

“You did it, Lou, you can jump down, the next cameras don't reach where you are.”

He does, pulling a full Spiderman landing pose. He's always wanted to do that. 

The lawn looks like it could be disguised as a secret land mine, plush and green with occasional flecks of grey where the sprinklers are. 

Even Louis and Harry have underground sprinklers. 

Louis painstakingly places the first pod exactly where Zayn said. Then Louis takes a proper look at the mansion. It's something he would've conjured up in his own billionaire dreams. It looks like a modern day castle, it's pastel color glistening in the sun. It's a view from the back, but Louis can't deny that it's just as miraculous as whatever the front looks like. The house looks as though it rose straight of the ground and decided, yeah, this is a good place to be the epitome of wealth. 

“Keep moving, Lou, four minutes to go.”

He nearly slips on the dewy grass trying to get into motion. Light reflects off the silver sliding doors, blinding him. 

“Ah, fuck.” He trips again, really the picture of a professional cat burglar.

“What?” Harry's voice goes all worried-like. Almost as bad as the time Louis nearly sliced his finger off trying to cut an apple. Louis had kept laughing. “You alright?”

“Yeah. This house is just _really_ shiny. So,” Louis squints up at the balcony in front of him, “Do I get to use the cool belay thing this time?”

“Go for it,” Zayn replies. “Just don't go too quickly, two minutes and the systems will be down. Don't wanna risk what he's got lying around, so time it just right, okay? We'll be counting down.” 

Louis ducks down into the shrubs beside the house, setting the second pod down just below the balcony. He twists his belt this way and that in attempt to locate the hooked self-retracting rope. Once he gets it, it's a rush to clip it to himself properly and get the hook over the edge of the balcony in a single, well calculated throw. 

He nails it, in the metaphorical sense, and has to force himself to not have a bodily celebration.

“Ninety seconds,” Zayn announces in his ear. “Third pod has to be attached underneath the balcony. 

“Take it slow,” Harry advises, “We don’t know how far that camera’s sensor reaches.”

Louis clicks the cable’s self-retracting button, lets his weight keep the motion in check. He has to keep his finger on the button, squeezing tighter periodically to keep him from rocketing up and knocking himself unconscious.

“One minute…”

The ride is becoming quite boring and Louis wishes he'd brought a snack. 

“Thirty seconds…”

Louis vaguely feels as though he's a spaceship being counted down for liftoff. 

“Ten… Nine…. Eight”

Zayn genuinely sounds like the head of NASA. 

“Five… Four… Three…”

Louis is approaching the balcony railing more quickly now, ready to connect the pod and swing himself over. 

“Now, Lou, go!”

He grins to himself, hand brushing the underside of the balcony and feet hitting the brick directly after, with the finesse that only a student as meticulous as him could master. 

“I'm on fucking _fire_.”

Harry's probably just rolled his eyes. “ _Run_ , Louis!”

Right. He's got fifteen minutes before the alarm system being shut down alerts someone. So he takes off, carefully stowing the device back onto his belt as bends down in front of the huge balcony doors. They give way after he takes less than half a minute to pick the lock. 

He's really good at this. 

Then Louis is jetting down the lavish corridor, trying his hardest not to stop and admire the plush carpeting, the intricately patterned wallpaper. It's all obviously been very carefully chosen. It's a real shame that there's hardly anyone here to appreciate it. 

(Louis has a thing for interior decorating, apparently.)

“Harry,” he says offhandedly, “Remind me to call in someone to–”

Louis stops, mid-step and mid-sentence, unable to continue down the path he's so painstakingly memorised. 

“Lou? Louis? Are you there? What's wrong?”

Icy eyes meet his, a mixture of angry and confused. 

“Nothing, Harry, it's alright. Just lost my train of thought.”

Zayn pipes up. “Keep going, Louis, time is ticking.”

Indeed it is, but there isn't much Louis can do when he's staring into the eyes a young girl, pale as a ghost, wearing a dress that's reminiscent of Victorian era London. If Louis didn't know better, he'd think she was a ghost. 

“ _Qui es-tu?_ ”She doesn't speak English, then. “ _Que faites-vous dans ma maison?_ ”

Louis raises his hands, takes a small step forward. “ _J’mapelle Louis._ ” His real name slips out in a shaky voice before he can think better of it. Even though they anticipated this, they didn’t actually expect it. “ _Je suis ici pour retourner quelque chose_.” The language feels foreign on his tongue from excessive disuse. He can't remember the last time he's had to have a full conversation in French. 

And either his accent has gone or his grammar is well off, because the girl in front of him doesn’t look convinced. She does, however, look entirely aware and intelligent, completely unlike what they'd assumed based on her daily habits. She may have odd wardrobe choices, but she clearly doesn't have a disability of any kind. 

“ _S'il te plaît crois moi_ ,” he pleads. “ _Je ne vais pas prendre quoi que ce soit, et je ne vais pas vous faire du mal. Je le jure._ ”

“ _Comment puis-je sais que cela est la vérité?_ ”

Louis can see why he has reason to lie. He's a stranger in her father’s home, a trespasser. But he's running out of time to return the diamond, and he still has to crack the vault. Unless…

“ _Vous pouvez venir voir par vous-même._ ” He reveals the diamond from his fanny-pack, showing it to her. “ _Je vais me contenter de le remettre, alors je vais quitter_.” 

She seems less tense now, gesturing for Louis to follow her further into the mansion. 

“And your name?” he slips up, saying it in English. He really is rusty. “ _Pardon. Comment vous appelez-vous?_ ”

“Adèle,” she replies proudly. And rightfully so; it's a beautiful name. “Adèle Málvoleur. _Êtes-vous le voleur que mon père parle de?_ ”

Louis tries his hardest not to let the question falter him. If she's as evil as he is then he won't last three seconds under her scrutiny. He's already given her his name, _fuck_. 

So he shrugs, dusting off his acting skills and feigning nonchalance. “ _Peut-être, peut-être pas._ ”

Adèle leads him to the study, one of the rooms they've been able to successfully locate with the bugged drones that Nick and Harry made. He really wishes they had put a small camera on him, because his relative radio silence has got Harry hissing madly in Louis’ ear. Hopefully they've picked up on Adéle’s voice. 

“ _Ceci est l'étude de mon père. Ceci est où il garde tous ses biens les plus précieux, comme ce diamant que vous avez volé de lui, voleur._ ”

“ _Il est Louis, en fait, mais grâce à la reconnaissance de ma profession._ ” He could only be expected to hold in his rebuttals for so long. She's being mean. “ _Avez-vous arriver à connaître la combinaison du coffre, ou devrai-je craquer moi-même ouvrir._ ” 

She crosses her arms petulantly. “ _On dirait que vous aurez à comprendre cela sur votre propre, si vous voulez être impoli._ ”

“ _Tu es le seul être grossier!_ ”

“ _C'est ni ici ni là._ ”

Louis doesn't have time for this. 

The safe is large and intimidating, a deep red colour. He feels stupid and cliché pulling the stethoscope out of his fanny pack, but it's been the one thing that's been able to work for him. (He's not as good as Zayn at feeling it out.)

He drops down in front of the safe, twisting the numbered dial clockwise several times. The stethoscope goes just to the left of the dial, just a bit below. Zayn told him to listen for two clicks, one fainter than the other. That'll be easy to do; The room is dead silent save for the aggressive pounding of his heartbeat. 

It clicks for the first two times on the 24, and it has Louis wondering what the significance of the combination may be. When he turns the dial counterclockwise once more, it clicks on the 12. It could be… a date, measurements. Or it could mean nothing. The last number is at the very end of the hundred-number dial. 91. 

It's… It's Louis’ birthday. Which. That could be a coincidence. It's Christmas Eve, after all, and could very well be an anniversary. 

“ _Alors, quelle est la vingt-quatrième de Décembre, alors? Maman et papa se marient? Divorcé?_ ” He tries his best to sound smug as he carefully places the diamond into the safe. “ _Juste curieux._ ”

“It's your date of birth, Mr. Tomlinson.”

The stethoscope is still in his ears, Louis remembers. Maybe Adéle’s voice just sounded deeper with them in. Maybe she's suddenly grasped the English language. Or maybe not, as Louis can hear frantic voices coming from the ear pieces resting on his shoulders. 

“ _Va dans ta chambre, Adèle._ ”

“ _Papa–_ ”

“ _Aller!_ ”

Louis hears the angry footsteps of Adèle shuffling out, obviously disappointed that she can't stick around for… whatever's about to happen. Louis is suddenly very, very afraid. 

The room shrinks around him until he feels about ready to burst from the pressure. He fucked up. The whole mission is ruined and it's all his fault because he couldn't just stick to the plan. He was too slow, too careless. He's probably going to die. 

“And just what did you think you were doing with my diamond.”

Louis does his absolute best to void his expression of any and all fear as he stands up and faces the Frenchman. He's already caught, heart in his throat, so he might as well just tell the truth. 

“Returning it.” He sounds passé enough, once again sending a million silent thank-yous to his drama teacher. 

In person, Monsieur Málvoleur does indeed look every bit as sinister as his countless mugshots depict, the sly smirk never falling from his face. He's tall, with arms crossed and an air that lets the whole room know that he does, in fact, own the place. His suit is brand new and decorated top to bottom with a floral pattern that Harry would fawn over. Louis feels smaller than ever, but continues to rely on his lizard brain, puffing up every bit of his ego that he can muster. 

“Why didn't you just let me retrieve it?” His accent his heavy, the words melting on his tongue in a way that Louis hasn't heard in his worst nightmares. “You knew I was coming; It would've saved you quite a bit of trouble–”

“As if I'd ever trust you!” Louis has never been good at keeping quiet. “You'd have killed us anyway, like you're probably going to do to me now. It was an _accident_ and you never would've listened to that because you're an egotistical shit head.” 

Realistically, Louis shouldn't be angry. He's a thief, a con artist, just like Málvoleur, can understand his need to protect his things. They're both bad people, but Louis is _seething_. From what he's been told, Málvoleur has a blatant disregard for life, rules, balance. Every bit of Louis’ thievery has been to _survive._ He does it because he doesn't know what else he could possibly do. Louis would never kill anyone, never senselessly murder innocent people because of some God-complex he's built for himself. No, that would be the man standing in front of him with an evil glint in his eye, staring at Louis like he's some kind of prey. 

“Colourful language, Mr. Tomlinson. Though, I do wonder how you and your little prodigé _did_ manage to rob me of my most precious possession… How did you say? Yes, ‘accidentally.’ Do tell me.” 

Málvoleur crosses over to a bookcase, resting his weight upon it and asserting his dominance over the situation. His young face is irritating Louis, because they both know quite well that most of it is artificial. A man well into his fifties should not bear resemblance to a thirty year old. He's all dark hair and bright eyes, looking more as if he's got something to live for than Louis could ever hope to. 

A horn honks outside. 

Louis rests his hands on Málvoleur’s desk, power playing him right back. 

“You want the truth?” Málvoleur nods. “The truth is that my partner is a bumbling _idiot_. I’d been trying to train him to be a proper thief but apparently I didn’t do well enough that he couldn’t recognise the type of people he shouldn’t attempt to steal from.” He really hopes that Harry can’t hear him. “He was stupid, got me into this mess, and so I had to take matters into my own hands to fix it. Independence, yeah?”

He almost looks impressed with Louis’ little outburst. “So, you’re saying that none of this is your fault?”

“No,” Louis replies immediately, “I’m taking full responsibility and I’m here to _fix_ it. So here, take your precious diamond and I’ll be on my way.”

Málvoleur takes it from him, examining it closely. 

“I have no reason to lie. It's the very same diamond he took from you.” In terms of the mission, Louis did it. It's done. “May I go now?”

Without looking away from the diamond, Málvoleur says, “No, I'm still going to kill you.” It's all very casual. 

It's also when the door of the study bursts open. 

Two large men stumble in, holding Zayn and Harry by their shirt collars. They throw the two boys onto the carpet at Louis’ feet. 

“Sorry to interrupt Monsieur Málvoleur, but we found these two skulking in the bushes outside.” 

“ _Skulking?_ ” Zayn repeats. “That's hardly what we were doing.”

Louis really wishes he would shut up.

Málvoleur looks the two of them up and down as they brush off the nonexistent dirt from their clothes. (Really, the room’s carpet is absolutely spotless.)

“Is this the rag-tag team that you're so dutifully cleaning up after?”

It's clearly meant to shake Louis’ façade, so he doesn't play along. He remains passive, shrugs it off and tells Málvoleur what he wants to hear. 

“What can I say? We're not all what we appear on first glance.”

Louis may have misinterpreted what Málvoleur wants to hear. He pockets the diamond, staring at them. Louis is most definitely about to see his breakfast again. They all are. 

“You got what you wanted from us,” Harry speaks up, “Why can't you just let us go?”

“Let's see…” Louis’ stomach sinks. “You stole from me, evaded me for weeks, spied on me and my house, trespassed on my property, broke into my study, and claimed to be _returning_ something. If you ask me,” Málvoleur has returned to his casual stance, “This sounds like a matter for the police. But we all know how hard they're looking for me, so I'd rather keep you all to myself.” He shoots Louis a sinister smile. “If you don't mind.”

Málvoleur crosses the room, sidles up real close until he's an inch away from Louis’ face. “How should I do it?”

But before either of them know it, Louis’ reflexes are acting for him and he's got a knife to Málvoleur’s throat. He has enough sense in him to grab Harry, who in turn grabs Zayn, and gets them both behind him just as the two large men who brought them in pull out their guns. 

“I'll do it,” Louis spits, “I'll do it and I won't care and you'll have nowhere to shoot but at him.”

On either side of his head, Louis hears the cocking of two handguns. 

“Don't worry about that, Lou. We've got it covered.”

The shots go off beside him just as the alarm sounds. It startles Louis enough that his arm jerks, and he can feel the very moment that the knife pierces flesh, and suddenly there's blood spilling down his hand, his arm, all over the floor. 

The three men thud to the floor right before Louis’ eyes, and he doesn't have enough time to react to the three pools of crimson before Harry and Zayn are pulling him along, down the corridor and out to the balcony. They can't be seen, they can't leave a trace. They take turns snatching each of the pods that Louis placed down on his way into the mansion, and Louis watches as Harry descends to solid ground with a grace he didn't know the boy was capable of. 

It's a blur, as he tumbles down himself and is barely aware he's shuffled into the van. It takes off, and every time he blinks all he sees is blood, all he hears is the crack of the gunfire. 

It was an _accident_ –

“You alright, Lou?”

Nick looks pale, probably sick with worry, which at any other time Louis would tease him about. All Louis can do now is shake his head, honestly, wondering how his two best friends could kill mercilessly, when he most likely never would've had the guts to call his bluff. But he did. He did do it. Málvoleur has most likely bled out on the floor of his study by now. His mind battles between _weak_ and _monster_ , and he can't discern which is worse. 

“I k–” His voice is lower than he expected, thankfully, and rough with impending tears. “I _killed_ him, Nick. I– _fuck.”_

Nick wraps him up with no second thoughts. It's fine for now since they're hiding in the back, behind all the equipment and the curtain while Harry and Zayn are sat with Niall up front. (Louis still doesn't know how Zayn convinced him to join in on the mission.) The sound of the van behind them is comforting, knowing that everyone is safe. Louis doesn't know what he'd do if any of them got hurt because of him. He's got enough blood on his hands now. 

“That– _How_?”

Louis’ hands start to tremble, and that scares him. His body is betraying him, in a way he can't understand. Nick is warm, and it's almost bordering on too warm as red flashes behind Louis’ again. 

“It was an– an accident. I didn't mean–”

Nick shushes him. “We can talk about it later, just relax. You can talk to Harry about it, but right now you've got to calm down, you're shaking.”

“Is Harry upset?” is all he can think to ask. “Did he hear what I said to Málvoleur? Because I didn't… I didn't mean it I just wanted him to trust me or something I don't know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it came in the feed, but. I think he understood. Me and Zayn both told him you probably didn’t mean it. We all know how much you love him.”

“I _do_ ,” Louis insists, “I really do I was just trying to get back to him. I had to come back.” 

“I know. Harry knows.”

The curtain slides open, and Zayn’s hair pops through, followed by his face. “All good in h–”

Louis doesn’t even bother looking up, just allows Nick and Zayn to have whatever silent conversation they’ve developed over the years. Zayn’s voice doesn’t sound again, just the curtain sliding closed and Louis’ intermittent sniffles. 

The rhythmic bumps of the road put him to sleep eventually, and it’s not until the echoing whir and the following slam of the van doors opening. Sunset has come and gone, nothing but the harsh glow of a streetlamp to irritate Louis’ tired eyes. It’s a minute or two before Nick can get him to vacate the warm nest that he’s made for himself and a few more before Louis takes in his surroundings and is aware of where they are.

“Why’re we home?” He turns to Harry, who’s punching in the gate code.

Harry doesn’t answer, just throws his coat around his shoulders and begins to walk down the long path to their house. 

“It’s safe now, Lou,” Zayn reminds him. “No one’s coming after you anymore. Málvoleur threatened more people to work for him than he actually had loyal employees. I’m sure you’ve done a lot of people a great service.”

Louis looks down at his still bloodied hands. “Yeah.” Arms wrap around him before he can get properly choked up about it. “Thanks, Z. For everything. I really appreciate it.

“I know. Just don’t wait for a crisis to call me next time. I’m still here for you no matter what.”

“Me too!” Nick calls from the van.

“Night.”

“Goodnight, Lou.”

It starts to snow halfway back to the house, and Harry’s walked slow enough that Louis can see the shadow of him just ahead. Hunched over, Harry’s steps are confident, unlike Louis’ unsure scuffles, and he falls far enough behind soon enough.

He doesn’t bother going to find Harry in his room when he gets there, is just met with a lump in his own. The door thuds lightly against the wall, and Harry probably tries to resist it, but his whole body turns to see Louis’ arrival.

Silence encapsulates them as they settle in, as the bed warms up to having two bodies in it once more. It’s awkward enough in a way that is shouldn’t be, and that in itself makes Louis’ stomach twist up. The day’s events keep flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks, a reminder. It isn’t until the quiet begins to make a sound that he feels the anxiety intensify into something almost tangible that makes him lose his breath. But before he loses himself properly, he forces himself to say something.

“I didn’t mean it, Harry.”

He’s facing the ceiling, staring up into the darkness as he says it and can only hear Harry’s shuffling to turn over from the opposite end of the king sized bed. It feels worlds away from every other time he’s blurted something into the dark. Be it a confession or an epiphany, it’s never felt quite like this.

“Are you sure? Sounded pretty convincing if you ask me…” The condescending rasp rings louder in Louis’ ears than it actually is. “Did it work?”

Louis’ heart is pounding now, but he can feel the shift when his guilt turns to anger. “You really don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“And what should I be? When you call me stupid and useless to a stranger–”

“A stranger who was going to kill me!” He’s sitting up now, chest heaving. “Anything I said in there was because I was thinking of _you_. I was thinking maybe if I get him to just let me go I wouldn’t have to leave _you_ alone. But I guess you really don’t need me. I guess I’ve served my minuscule purpose in the grand scheme that is your life. Should’ve just let him kill me.”

Louis wishes more than anything that the things he said had a ‘revise’ option.

Even in the relative darkness, the change in Harry’s view of the situation is evident. Louis turns to look at him, watches his expression fade from smug to understanding. Once he reaches the initial phase of realising that Louis doesn’t actually think any of the things he said when his life was on the line, he seems to grasp the fact that Louis nearly died because of him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, just…” Louis drops his face in his hands. “Can this just be over? All of it? The heist nonsense and the dancing-around-each-other. Can we just be done with it because I really miss you. I know you’ve been here but I miss my best friend. I miss you in all the ways I haven’t even gotten to have you yet. Can that be now? Can we do that.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he says, “Of course we can. I’d love that.”

It’s a moment he didn’t know he was waiting for until it happens. Harry’s arms are around his waist, suddenly, pulling him backwards into a pile of pillows and sweatshirts and warmth and _love_. Lips behind Louis' ear where there's going to be a lipstick stain and a hand over his rabbiting heart, Harry says, “I love you,” and it’s better than Louis could’ve ever imagined.

“ _Je t'aime aussi, mon petit soldat._ ”


	4. Epilogue

It was the nightmares that did it, in the end.

They couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think, couldn’t _work_ with the constant fear of Louis losing it. He’d see red in the middle of the night, the guilt and the flashbacks eating him alive from the inside. He’d sleepwalk, digging through their things until he found the knife and just sat with it, staring at it without actually seeing it. Harry would find him in the kitchen more often than not, drinking cups and cups of water as if he was trying to drown himself. They got behind on bills, barely had food in the house. It was two months before Harry deemed it more than enough for a trip to a doctor.

Louis refused at first, of course, stubborn as ever and refusing to admit weakness. It took a week and a half for Louis to give it up, to talk to someone about what had happened without actually letting all the details. They came up with a good lie, one that sounded enough like what Louis had actually witnessed without all the illegal details. Harry argued that Louis didn’t have to worry because of confidentiality laws, but Louis made the excellent point that they could never be too safe. 

It got better after that, with Louis learning how to remove the association of loud noises with that specific moment. He stopped jumping at every small bump in the night, at every car backfire, at every time Harry collided with the coffee table. Louis vision stopped flooding red every time he closed his eyes, and he stopped feeling crippling guilt for taking a father away from his daughter. 

The nightmares were the last to go, despite their best efforts. It took more effort on both of their parts; more comforting words before the slept from Harry, less denial of fault from Louis. But it happens. And their first quiet night since it happened, Harry wakes Louis up with about a thousand kisses and a cup of tea.

-

They see Zayn more now, and he’s got himself a girlfriend. Louis teases them mercilessly, and gets teased in return for he and Harry being equally gross. When they’re altogether, just the three of them, there’s something homely about it that Louis is never able to place, but warms him up and keeps him content nonetheless. They never talk about what happened, make a silent agreement that they all did what they had to to survive, just like always. 

Zayn lets Louis in on lots of small cat burglaries that they pull off together seamlessly. And Nick lets Harry help with developing a new hacking software, and how to hack that hacking software should the police ever get their hands on it.

It’s ice cream in the winter and mismatched socks, the perfect little group of misfits that Zayn gathered welcoming Louis and Harry into their family with no qualms about it. And while all Harry and Louis need is each other, they both agree that it’s nice to belong somewhere.

-

“Are you sure that you needed _all_ of those tattoos?”

Harry traces over a wing the still-sore butterly. “Positive.”

Every fibre in Louis’ body is telling him to slap the place where Harry’s body is permanently inked. But Louis’ brain knows that would be terrible. “Tell me again,” he says instead, “What do they all mean.”

Harry tells a story of an old French prison tattoo, to remind of a place he vows never to be. A place he knows he’ll never be because he’s got Louis to look after. He tells Louis that it means the wearer is a thief. _Je vole_ , he whispers. _Je suis un voleur comme vous._ Then he moves down to the new-but-healed laurels that frame his hips, the fading hands shaking on the back of his left bicep. It amazes Louis how much Harry has evolved, from telling Louis off for stealing some cash to being so proud and obvious about his criminal status. Harry points to the front of his arm, to the large black heart, still talking about its origins that he asked the tattoo artist for in great detail (even though he'd already looked it up). Then to the three nails just beneath that, and the mermaid that sits calmly on the outside of his forearm. Lastly, he points out the bottle that so smartly reads, _You Booze, You Lose_ amongst the smattering of other tattoos that have far different meanings. Louis has heard the stories behind each of them, but the one’s that their story has inspired specifically are his favorite. 

When Harry finally stops talking, the rumble of his voice stuttering to a stop, he looks at Louis. 

“I'd be nothing without you,” he says. It scares Louis, the weight of what that means. “Thank you for everything.”

Louis doesn't have to ask what he means, because he's thought the same thing so many times himself. Harry means the times when no one else was there, when everything seemed hopeless and it felt like it was them against the world. When Harry was lost, when Louis was lost, when they found themselves in each other. 

“Don't mention it,” Louis declares with a smile. He stretches his neck the bit of the distance that it takes to plant a kiss on Harry's lips. “I'll be here for you always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... so. This has been a really long journey , I've been working on this monster for over a year and I just want to thank everyone who's seen snippets of it before it became what it was, everyone who's left a kudos or a comment, tweeted/dm'd me about it. Most of all, thank you to Skye who never let this die, just like always, believed in me and kept me writing (though I think she was biased to this one) I hope the end measured up to what I'd been trying to build to. This has been my baby for quite a while now (I started writing it halfway through my senior year of high school and now I'm well into my freshman year of college wow) and I'm really proud of myself for seeing it through and it's been amazing watching this story grow from a one page drabble for my creative writing class to a monster with a plot and characters changing and moving on and finding themselves through love and loss. This is easily my longest and most complex piece of writing to date and I don't know what else to say besides thanks to my best friend for keeping the dream alive :) But yeah, thank you if you've made it to reading this note, thank you for clicking the link and reading it or just scrolling to the bottom of it to read this ahah. Anyway. Time to put this baby to bed, The end!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ! any and all feedback is very very very VERY much appreciated :) please tell me what you thought
> 
> *DISCLAIMER: I don't know anything about thievery/crime/pickpocketing/heists/PTSD or otherwise. These are very liberal guesses. I'm sorry if I offend anyone.*
> 
> [fic post!](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com/post/173864928854/)


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